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STORIES 


FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 


Jfar Cljilimit. 


BY 


GRACE GREENWOOD, 

AUTHOR OP “ HISTORY OF MY PUTS,” “ RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD, ” 
“ MERRIE ENGLAND,” “ STORIES AND LEGENDS,” 

ETC., ETC., ETC. 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY BILLINGS. 



BOSTON : 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

(Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.) 

1871. 


A 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, 

BY LEANDER K. LIPPINCOTT, 

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, 
BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cambridge. 


CONTENTS 


PATIENT GRISELDA 

TIIE KING OF FRANCE’S DAUGHTER 

CHEVY CHACE 

THE KING AND THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD . 

TOE ENGLISH MERCHANT AND THE "SARACEN LADY 
THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER, OR BEDNALL-GREEN 
THE HEIR OF LINNE 

4 

SIR PATRICK SPENS 

AULD ROBIN GRAY 

FRIDOLIN ; OR, THE MESSAGE TO THE FORGE . 

THE EMPEROR, THE ABBOT, AND THE SHEPHERD 
THE RICHEST PRINCE ...... 

THE WIVES OF WEINSBURG .... 

THE CUSTOM OF DUNMOW . . 


PAGE 

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STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 

The Marquis of Salusa, a great noble- 
man of Italy, one day set forth on a hunt, 
with a large party of gentlemen, — gallant 
young knights and courtiers. As the mar- 
quis was riding by himself, a little in ad- 
vance of his company, along the borders of 
a great fqrest, he heard a sweet, womanly 
voice singing a gay ballad of love. Curi- 
ous to see from whence came that voice, 
the marquis rode cautiously along till he 
came upon a simple little cottage, hidden, 
like a bird's nest, amid the thick, green 
foliage. Beside the door sat a beautiful 
young maiden, spinning and pouring out 
the gladness of an innocent heart in song. 
Her voice was so delicious that the lin- 
nets and thrushes in the trees around were 
l 


A 


2 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

hushed in listening wonder. Only a know- 
ing old sparrow, sitting on the low thatch 
of the cottage, eying the singer, with his 
head on one side, filled the pauses of her 
song with chirps of gracious applause ; and 
an enthusiastic young robin , balancing him- 
self on a slender spray, burst, every now 
and then, into a low gurgle of delight. It 
was a voice which seemed to belong to the 
young girl by right, it so expressed her 
beauty and sweetness. It was to her what 
perfume is to the rose. 

This maiden was clad in a simple russet 
gown, the dress of a peasant. She wore 
no ornaments, and she needed none. Fairer 
than pearls were her lovely arms and neck, 
and more beautiful than a coronet of gold 
and jewels were the rich masses of sunny 
curls flowing to her waist, and softly shad- 
ing her sweet face, as she sat and sang. 

The marquis thought he had never be- 
held so lovely a creature. Though he 
knew many fair court ladies — proud dames 
of high degree — his heart had never been 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


3 


touched by their haughty beauty and stud- 
ied graces as by the simple loveliness of 
this poor peasant girl, — this wild rose of 
the forest. He sat very still in his sad- 
dle, gazing at her, — while she, all uncon- 
scious of his presence, sang on and whirled 
the swift wheel, thinking of anything else 
in the world but noble marquises, — till his 
company joined him. Then he advanced 
to the cottage door, and, taking off his 
plumed and jeweled hat, said, courteously, 
“ Good day, fair mistress of this homely 
bower, — this abode of virtue, love, and 
sweet content.” 

The maiden was very much surprised, 
but not overcome. She had seen fine court 
gentlemen before, as they rode through the 
forest, chasing the deer. She rose, and, 
modestly greeting the marquis, welcomed 
him and his company to her father’s poor 
cottage, where she and her mother set 
before them some simple refreshments. 

In those days short courtships were the 
fashion, especially where the suitor was a 


4 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

noble lord, and his love a poor peasant 
girl. So it was hardly a matter of sur- 
prise to any present, except the cottagers, 
when the marquis turned from the brown 
bread and milk, which he had been making 
a brave effort to eat, and, taking the little 
white hand of the golden-haired maiden, 
said, “ What is thy name, fair damsel ? ” 

“ Griselda,” she replied, with a blush. 

“ Ah, well, Griselda, thou pleasest me ; 
and I mean to make thee my wife.” 

But the maid, blushing yet more deeply, 
and trying to withdraw her hand, replied, 
“ Nay, my lord marquis, that must not be ; 
for I am a poor, ignorant peasant girl, too 
far below thy high estate to wed with thee. 
Surely thou dost jest.” 

Then the marquis swore a great oath — 
which I cannot think of repeating here — 
that he would marry her, and no other ; 
and as he was very powerful indeed, and 
very self-willed and obstinate, — as lords are 
likely to be, — and as the maiden’s father 
and mother were only too proud and happy 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


5 

to give their consent, and as Griselda 
herself had, on beholding the handsome 
young huntsman, been seized with an in- 
stantaneous and overpowering affection for 
him, she consented, as we knew she would 
all along. 

Then the gay young knights came for- 
ward and congratulated their lord, and 
begged leave to kiss the fair hand of his 
lady-love. They bowed low before Gri- 
selda, and pretended to be quite over- 
whelmed by her beauty and grace ; but 
they laughed behind her back at her rustic 
air and russet gown — the rogues ! 

In a day or two there arrived for Gri- 
selda, from the marquis' palace, a great 
many parcels and band-boxes, containing 
splendid dresses and ornaments, accompa- 
nied by a smart waiting- woman, who put 
on such airs when she found herself in a 
cottage that Griselda thought her some 
great lady, and addressed her with pro- 
found respect, which did not tend to lesson 
her airs. She condescended, however, to 
1* 


6 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

dress the bride in the silk, and velvet, and 
jewels her lord had sent to her ; to comb 
out her sunny locks, and confine them with 
a band of gold, set thick with diamonds. 

The marquis came, with a company of 
noble lords and ladies, to conduct the bride 
to church. Griselda came forth from her 
chamber, looking more beautiful than words 
can tell, and greeted her lord with joyful 
smiles. Yet, as he led her forth, and set 
fier on her snow-white palfrey, who tossed 
his mane and pawed the earth, as though 
proud of his trappings of crimson and gold, 
she did not glance back upon the humble 
cottage of her parents with haughty scorn, 
but with tears in her soft blue eyes. 

She was married in a great church, with 
any amount of pomp and ceremony, two 
envious court ladies holding her train. And 
so the lowly born Griselda became Mar- 
chioness of Salusa. 

When the marquis took his bride away 
to court, her father and mother returned 
proud and sad to their cottage, which had 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


7 


become a very lonely and silent place. 
Everything seemed to miss Griselda ; the 
birds she had fed and sung to ; the flowers 
she had tended ; even the wild vine that 
clambered up the wall, and peeped in at 
the little window of her vacant chamber. 

44 How grand our Grisel looked, in silk 
and velvet ! She seemed made for such royal 
attire,’ ’ said the peasant mother to her good 
man, more than once, after that great wed- 
ding. Yet the first thing she had done, on 
their return from the church, was to take 
up the russet gown which the tiring- 
woman had contemptuously flung by, fold 
it carefully, and lay it away in a chest, with 
all the other articles of her daughter’s sim- 
ple wardrobe. Then she knelt down and 
looked at them all, — russet gown, scarlet 
petticoat, snowy apron and hose, and little 
wooden shoes, — not with smiles of scorn, 
but with tears of tenderest love. You would 
have almost thought it was Griselda’ s coffin 
she was looking into so mournfully. 

At court, Griselda’s beauty so far out- 


8 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

shone that of the dames of high degree 
that they were all filled with envy and ill 
will. Soon they endeavored to make strife 
and unhappiness between her and her lord, 

— dispraising her for her lowly birth and 
simple, innocent ways, even while praising 
her beauty, and pretending to admire her 
healthy, country bloom. They said very 
bitter, disagreeable things, with the sweet- 
est voices and softest smiles ; affected to 
pity the marquis for his infatuation, and 
to believe that he already repented his un- 
lucky choice of a wife. 

The Salusas were a very proud and aris- 
tocratic family, wonderfully ancient and 
exclusive. They could trace back their 
splendid line for ever so many centuries, 

— some said, playfully, to the creation ; 
and that they laid claim to a separate 
Eden, and an Adam and Eve of their 
own. So it was little wonder that the 
marquis’ kinswomen were all especially 
indignant and scornful ; and being such 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


9 


mighty personages, they did not scruple to 
speak out plain and strong. 

“Thou hast wronged us, cousin, ” they 
said. “ Thou, a noble marquis, a Salusa, 
to wed with one so basely bom. Thou 
shouldst have taken a princess for thy 
wife. Put away this mean peasant girl, 
who brings upon thee and thy race only 
scorn and reproach, and take another 
bride, — a lady of rank equal to thine 
own.” 

All these things were reported to Gri- 
selda ; but she bore them with sweet pa- 
tience and unfailing humility, saying that 
her dear lord must do as seemed to him 
best — hold to her, or put her away ; that 
she grieved to have offended the noble lords 
and ladies by her lowly birth ; but that that 
was a thing she could not undo, else would 
she gladly right it. And yet it seemed to 
her, she said, that her lord's high estate 
should make her humbleness to be forgot- 
ten ; as when the lark soars singing in 


10 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

mid-heaven, none think of his mate, low- 
nested in the meadow-grass. 

Well, those gay lords and proud ladies 
grew more and more interested in their 
game of hunting down poor Griselda, and 
worrying her noble husband ; till at last, 
the marquis secretly laid a plan for morti- 
fying them, and proving his wife's patience 
and constant love. This plan has been 
greatly admired and commended, espe- 
cially by poets ; but I cannot say that I 
approve of it at all. From beginning to 
end I think it was most unkind and un- 
generous. I must confess, too, that I can- 
not altogether admire Griselda’ s wonderful 
“ patience.” In my opinion she had alto- 
gether too much of a good thing. But to 
my story. 

Griselda was now the mother of two 
pretty twin babies. At the christening of 
these there was great rejoicing among the 
retainers of the marquis. A great com- 
pany of knights and ladies were enter- 
tained at his palace with feasts and tour- 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


11 


neys, and all sorts of pleasant games, for 
fall six weeks. 

Griselda mingled as little as possible in 
these sports. She loved better to' stay in 
the nursery, beside the cradle of her babies, 
where she was happier than she had ever 
been since she became a great lady. One 
day, after all the guests were gone, she 
was sitting by the children, watching them 
in their sleep, and wishing, perhaps, that 
her own dear mother were there to look 
with her on their pretty little rosy faces 
and chubby, dimpled hands, when a rude 
servitor entered, and told her that his lord 
had sent him to remove the babies forever 
out of the way ; as, on their mother’s side, 
they were too base-born to inherit the riches 
and titles of the noble house of Salusa. 
4 4 So let me have the children, without 
delay,” he said, stretching out his hands 
towards the cradle. 

Poor Griselda burst into tears and sobs, 
and wrung her hands wildly, for a few mo- 
ments. But she soon calmed herself, stayed 


12 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

her sobs, dropped her hands upon her knees, 
and said, meekly, “ My gracious lord must 
have his will obeyed.' ’ 

Then she took her little son and daughter 
from their cradle, kissed them many times, 
with tears and blessings and sorrowful fare- 
wells, and gave them to her lord’s messen- 
ger, saying, “ Alas ! alas ! had I been of 
royal race, I might have kept my dear ba- 
bies ; now they must die for my unworthi- 
ness. Take them, messenger of death though 
thou be, and commend me to my lord.” 

The servitor took the children to his 
master, who secretly sent them to a noble 
lady, to be brought up tenderly, as became 
their rank. 

After he had done this, he went to seek 
his wife. He found her sitting in the 
nursery all alone, beside the empty cradle, 
very white and still, with her hands tightly 
clasped on her bosom. She tried to smile 
when her lord drew near, and though she 
could not quite do it, she looked very sweet 
and patient as usual. 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


13 


“ Well,” he said, “ thy children are 
now disposed of, safe from the scorn of 
the great world. What dost thou think 
of this deed ? Answer me, my pretty 
Griselda.” 

She replied, “ If thou, my lord, art well 
pleased with it, poor Griselda can say 
naught against it. Both I and mine are 
at thy command.” 

A few days after this, the marquis came 
to his wife’s chamber, apparently very much 
disturbed in his mind. 

“ My fair Griselda,” he said, rather 
bluntly, “matters have come to such a 
pass here at court, — my nobles and their 
wives so murmur and rail at the great 
honor I have done thee, — that I can have 
no peace till thou art banished. I am 
sorry, but I really cannot hold out any 
longer. I have made up my mind to send 
thee home, and let thee return to the lowly 
fortune to which thou wert born. Thou 
must take off thy stately garments, which 
ill befit thee now, and put on again the 
2 


14 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

russet gown thou didst wear when I saw 
thee first. I have had it brought hither, 
with the rest of thy peasant garb. I would 
he willing to grant thee a pension from my 
purse, hut for the exceeding hitter outcry 
against thee. My kinsfolk will not allow 
me to give thee a groat. It is a grievous 
case, hut so it must he.” 

Griselda heard these cruel words quietly, 
and' submitted without a murmur or com- 
plaint. She rose up meekly, stripped off 
her laces and her jewels, her robe of velvet 
and her kirtle of silk, and put on her rus- 
set gown. When she was dressed in the 
old humble way, though her insolent wait- 
ing-woman laughed, she was not ashamed, 
only sorely grieved. As she was ready to 
depart from her splendid palace-home she 
thought only of the beloved though cruel 
husband she must be separated from for- 
ever ; and looking up into his face with 
tearful eyes she said, softly, “ God send 
long life to thee, my dear lord.” 

The marquis’ own eyes looked a little 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


15 


watery at these words. He bent down and 
kissed her, saying, “ Farewell, my dear.” 

And so the Marquis of Salusa put away 
his wife ; and she, all clad in russet gray, 
went back to the little cottage by the great 
forest, and said, “My father and mother, 
I have come back to you and the lowly 
estate to which I was born. My noble lord 
has wearied of me.” 

Griselda continued to live with her par- 
ents some years. She was still very beau- 
tiful, though not so blooming and gay as 
in her humble, happy girlhood. She never 
sang now, and secretly she wept much for 
her lost children and the husband who had 
forsaken her. But she was gentle and 
good, and as “ patient” as ever. No one 
could speak evil of her. At court she was 
soon forgotten ; and at last there were 
rumors that the Marquis of Salusa was 
about to make a new marriage, — one 
worthy of his exalted rank and ancient 
family. The first that Griselda knew of 
it she was summoned by the marquis to 


16 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

his palace, to attend the wedding and wait 
on the fair bride. 

“ Do not go, my Grisel,” said her 
mother. “Thou owest that wicked man 
no duty, now that he has put thee away. 
Go not, I pray thee.” 

“Nay, mother,” she replied, “I owe 
my dear lord duty while I live ; and I will 
go, if only to look on his face once more, 
and for the last time ere I die.” 

So she went to the palace with her 
brother, — she looking very meek and pa- 
tient, as usual ; he with a fiery glow in his 
swarthy cheeks, and an angry flash in his 
eyes ; for he loved his fair sister, and fiercely 
resented her wrongs. 

The new bride of the marquis was very 
unlike the old ; a proud and haughty dame 
was she, and crafty withal. She had 
wished and schemed to marry the mar- 
quis before he had wedded Griselda, and 
afterwards had been the poor wife’s bit- 
terest enemy. 

Ah ! it was a sore trial of Griselda’s 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


17 


patience, when she was charged with the 
task of attiring this proud dame for the 
altar. Yet she did as she was commanded, 
— meekly bore the lady’s scoffs and gibes, 
and tried hard to make her look beautiful 
in her costly bridal array. 

When all was done, and the marquis 
had entered, with all his lords and gentle- 
men, she was about to shrink away, feel- 
ing that she really could endure no more, 
and that she must get home to her mother, 
or die at once, when the marquis stepped 
up to her and said, “Now, Mistress Gri- 
selda, I would know if thou agreest to this 
marriage. I have chosen, at last, a right 
noble and stately bride, of ancient family, 
and exceeding rich withal. What sayest 
thou ? Methinks thy looks are wondrous 
coy. Art well content ? ’ ’ 

With this, all around began to laugh at 
the poor woman’s distress. But she looked 
up in her old, patient, loving way ; and 
though her lip quivered, and her eyelashes 

glistened with tears, she said, firmly, 
2* B 


18 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

u God send my lord marquis many years 
Of joy ! ” 

At that meek answer, all present, except 
only the proud dame who was to be the 
bride, were moved with pity and admira- 
tion. More than one great lord, with an 
immense pedigree, and a brilliant string 
of titles streaming after his name, like the 
tail of a comet, became conscious, for the 
first time for many years, that he had such 
a thing as a heart, by its suddenly soften- 
ing and warming toward that marvelously 
loving and long-suffering wife. More than 
one haughty lady, amazed at such good- 
ness and gentleness, forgot or forgave poor 
Griselda’s surpassing beauty, and cried, 
“ Gramercy ! she is an angel, and no 
mortal woman.” 

But most of all was the marquis moved 
by her humble words, her uncomplaining 
sweetness ; by all the mournful tenderness 
and patient suffering which spoke in her 
tones and looked out of her eyes. lie took 
her by the hand, and said, in a loud, clear 


PATIENT GRISELDA. 


19 


voice, “ Thou art my bride, — all the bride 
I want, or mean to have.” Then, pointing 
to a noble boy and a beautiful young girl, 
standing somewhat apart and gazing wist- 
fully upon her, he added, “ There are th^ 
children ! ” and in another moment, Gri- 
selda was warmly embraced by her long 
lost son and daughter. 

The marquis then asked pardon of the 
disappointed bride, — who, after all, was no 
bride, — and begged her still to retain, as 
some slight consolation for the loss of his 
rank and fortune, the costly jewels he had 
that morning presented to her. She re- 
fused to grant the pardon, but she kept 
the jewels. 

Then, again taking the hand of his wife, 
the marquis made a little speech to the 
lords and ladies present, which consider- 
ably lowered their lofty crests. 

“You who once envied and despised 
my dear and loving wife, ,? he said, “ may 
now blush for shame, and learn to honor 
virtue and goodness. I tell you, that long 


20 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

after the proudest of you is forgotten, fame 
shall extol the patient constancy of Gri- 
selda, whom I again take to my arms, - — 
my most noble and beloved wife.” 

Now, if I had been Griselda, I am almost 
sure I should have drawn back at this, and 
said, “ Pardon, my lord marquis, but this 
must not be. Thou didst never truly love 
me, if, having no reason to doubt my con- 
stant affection, thou couldst, for a mere 
whim, so cruelly rend my heart, and so 
severely try my patience, through these 
long years. I cannot be again thy wife. 
Give me my children, and let us part in 
peace.” 

But then I should have spoiled more 
than one quaint old ballad and charming 
romance, and robbed the husbands of many 
generations of a valuable example to hold 
up before their wives. So, on the whole, I 
suppose it is as well that I was not in 
“Patient Griselda’s ” place. 


THE KING OF FRANCE’S DAUGHTER. 


A long time ago, there ruled in France 
a famous monarch, called “ Charles the 
Bald,” who had a fair daughter named 
Judith, the only child of his dead queen. 
She was a very sweet young princess ; 
graceful and beautiful, as only a princess 
in a ballad or a fairy story can be. The 
king doted on her with all his heart, was 
proud of her beauty and accomplishments, 
and resolved to wed her to some rich and 
powerful prince. But, unfortunately for 
his ambitious plans, there came to his 
court a young prince of England, named 
Ethelwulph, brave and renowned, but, 
because of a revolution in his native land, 
an exile, poor and powerless. He was 
handsome and amiable, and, falling in love 
with the princess of France, had little dif- 
ficulty in winning her love in return. This 


22 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 


was not at all pleasing to the king, her 
father ; indeed was so displeasing that 
he frowned on his young guest in awful 
indignation and reproach. This made Eth- 
el wulph’s residence at court very uncom- 
fortable, as all the courtiers — who copied 
after their liege lord so servilely that to 
the youngest they shaved their crowns, in 
imitation of the royal baldness — frowned 
with double blackness on the unlucky 
stranger ; and all the fair ladies of the 
court, except the princess, looked most 
ungracious, or coolly turned their backs 
upon him. 

The king reproved his daughter sternly, 
and commanded her to think no more of 
that penniless and proscribed young Eng- 
lishman. A great king was Charles, but 
his power did not reach quite so far as 
that ; Judith thought of her lover more 
than ever, pitied him, and resolved to 
cling to him all the more for his mis- 
fortunes. 

At length her father began to treat her 


THE KING OF FRANCE’S DAUGHTER. 23 


severely, and wished to marry her to a 
gray-headed old royal suitor, whom she 
detested ; and, getting very desperate, she 
agreed to escape from court with her lover, 
to some safe refuge, where they could wed 
and live in peace. So she disguised her- 
self in humble attire, and, taking only, of 
all her royal goods, a casket of jewels and 
gold, stole forth, one summer night, from 
her father’s stately palace, away to the 
great hunting forest, on the borders of 
which her English lover had promised to 
meet her. 

s 

The young prince reached the spot 
agreed upon for the meeting before his 
fair lady, and sat down under an oak tree, 
to wait her coming. But most unluckily, 
as he waited there, all fond impatience, he 
was attacked by outlaws, robbed, and mor - 
tally wounded by dagger-strokes. 

The princess came to the wood, yet could 
not for a long time find the spot where he 
lay, but wandered about, listening for his 
voice, and calling him softly, for fear of 


24 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

being overheard by robbers, or some of the 
king's foresters. At length she was star- 
tled by hearing piteous sobs and groans, 
and then a mournful voice, saying, “ Fare- 
well, my beloved, whom I must never more 
see ! My days are at an end, and for thy 
love I die. While I lie here, bleeding all 
my brave young life away, I think only 
of my beautiful lady, and I am not sorry 
that I loved her. Ah, little knows she 
that my heart's blood is flowing on the 
ground ! " 

At these words, the princess, struck with 
a sad foreboding, rushed forward to the 
side of the dying man. The robbers had 
dragged him out from under the oak tree’s 
shadow into an open glade, where the full 
moon shone down on his ghastly face. It 
was, indeed, her beloved prince. She 
flung herself down by him, raised his head 
on her knee, and called him by his name 
very tenderly and sorrowfully. Alas ! he 
could not answer her. Once he looked at 


THE KING OF FRANCE^ DAUGHTER. 25 

hei ; then, with a low, sad sigh, his life 
fled away forever. 

For a long time the princess would not 
believe Prince Ethelwulph dead, but con- 
tinued to call on his name more and more 
wildly, striving to rouse him from his deep 
swoon, and to staunch his bleeding wounds. 
At last she resigned all hope, and, lying 
down by his side, with his cold hand 
pressed close to her heart, she wept bit- 
terly till morning. Then she rose up and 
looked about her, wearily and desolately. 
“Alas! ” she murmured, “what will be- 
come of me ? I cannot bear to return to 
the court of my father ; — my father, who 
scorned him , — my gracious and right royal 
love ; the princeliest man under the sun, 
— and drove him forth to die in this savage 
wood ! Rather will I seek a servant’s 
lowly place, in some stranger’s family, and, 
all unknown, live out my few sad days, — 
my woful, widowed days.” Then she fell 
to weeping again very drearily, and calling 
on the name of her dead love. 

3 


26 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

It happened that a forester — a very 
brave and comely youth — was that morn- 
ing ranging the wood, and came suddenly 
upon the maiden. Seeing that he looked 
gentle and full of pity, she told him a part 
of her sorrowful story, and shewed him her 
dead lover, but did not reveal his rank or 
her own. Her distress moved him to tears. 
He comforted her all he could ; he took up 
the body of the prince, and bore it tenderly 
to his cottage, where he washed its wounds, 
composed its limbs, and laid it to rest in 
the flowery earth, under an old forest- tree. 

Then, as the princess had spoken to him 
of wishing to go to - service, he placed her 
with his mother, who was very kind to her, 
and soon grew to love her very dearly. 
And not alone did that good old dame love 
the fair and sorrowful stranger, but all her 
household ; and most of all, the handsome 
young forester. He had never beheld a 
maiden of such refined beauty, such grace, 
and such gentle manners ; and he thought 


THE KING OF FRANCE^ DAUGHTER. 27 


it would be the happiest thing in the 
world if he could win her for his wife. 

It was a long time before the princess 
would consent to marry him. Her love 
and her joy seemed all buried with her 
murdered prince. But the forester was so 
kind and generous, and she was so grateful 
to him, and honored him so sincerely, that 
she finally granted him her hand ; and he 
proved so good a husband that at last she 
grew very happy and contented, and almost 
forgot the lofty rank to which she was born, 
and the bitter sorrow of her girlhood. 

It was not till after years had gone by, 
and she was the mother of seven children, 
that the Princess Judith revealed the secret 
of her royal birth to her husband. He was 
greatly astonished ; and, though he did not 
love his beautiful wife any better than be- 
fore, he wondered that she could have ever 
loved him and married him, — a man of 
low degree. He besought her to allow him 
to proclaim her rank to the world ; and 
from that time he clothed his children in 


28 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

a very curious manner. He had made for 
them parti-colored garments, — the right 
side of cloth of gold, the left of gray frieze, 
as emblematical of the rank of the mother 
and of the father. When he next heard 
that the king was coming to chase the deer 
in the forest, he persuaded Judith to place 
herself and her children near a path along 
which his majesty must ride. 

The princess was dressed in robes of 
crimson velvet, and wore the royal jewels 
she had secretly treasured through all these 
years. Her husband stood beside her, 
dressed all in sober gray, but a right 
gallant figure to behold ; and the seven 
beautiful children, in their parti-colored 
dress, — half cloth of gold, half gray frieze, 
like sunshine and shadow, — were grouped 
around their parents. 

Judith started and turned pale when 
she heard the horn of the hunters, and the 
dull sound of their horses' hoofs on the 
grassy forest paths. Her heart yearned 
lovingly toward her father, as it had often 


THE KING OF FRANCE^ DAUGHTER. 29 

done since she had been a mother ; but she 
feared to meet him face to face, — feared 
that he would reproach and disown her ; 
or, what would be far worse, treat with 
lofty scorn her good and noble husband. 

At length the monarch name in sight, 
followed by a long cavalcade of knights and 
gentlemen. Judith looked at him eagerly. 
He did not seem greatly changed ; he had 
grown a little stouter and ruddier, a lit- 
tle more bald, and his face seemed some- 
what softened, as by sorrow and regret. 

Charles was a keen-eyed monarch, who 
saw everything in his way ; so that singular 
group by the roadside did not escape his 
notice. He checked his horse, and looked 
at them curiously for a few moments ; then, 
calling the forester to him, asked how he 
dared to dress his wife in such a royal 
way, and to put cloth of gold on his 
children. 

4 ‘Because, sire," replied the forester, 

4 4 she hath, by birth, as well as by sover- 
eign beauty, the right to be so arrayed ; 

3 * 


30 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

and the children, through her, are entitled 
to cloth of gold and pearls ; she being a 
princess — the highest in the land.” 

On hearing this reply, the king looked 
more earnestly at Judith, and his stern 
face lighted up with a great joy, as he 
said to the forester, “ The more I look at 
thy wife, the more it seems to me that she 
is my long lost daughter, whom I have 
mourned as dead.” 

At these words the princess sprang for- 
ward, and, kneeling before him, cried, “I 
am thy daughter, — once thy little Judith. 
Pardon me, my dear father and sovereign 
liege ! ” 

The king at once dismounted and raised 
her in his arms, kissed her, and wept over 
her. Then he embraced her husband, and 
kissed and blessed her children — all seven 
of them — right tenderly and joyfully. 

After this glad meeting, the king gave 
up hunting for the day ; and, turning about 
with all his train, went home with the for- 
ester and his family. There, in that rustic 


THE KING OF FRANCE^ DAUGHTER. 31 


cottage, which, though not very small, 
quite overflowed with all that gay retinue, 
Charles the Bald — no longer the proud and 
ambitious monarch who frowned on poor 
Ethelwulph, and so cruelly treated his only 
daughter — dubbed the lowly-born forester 
knight, and made him Earl of Flanders, 
and chief of all the royal forces. 

Soon after this time, the earl and the 
princess went to live in a royal castle, and 
had hosts of servitors ; and, though they 
saw less of each other than formerly, they 
saw a great deal of good company, to make 
up for it. Their seven children no longer 
wore parti-colored clothes, but dressed in 
velvet and cloth of gold every day, and 
had tutors and governesses, and were 
taught to behave like fine ladies and 
gentlemen. 

But I doubt if they were, any of them, 
happier than in the old days, before the 
princess revealed that she was a princess, 
and when the children ran free about the 
forester’s cottage, and grew strong and 


32 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

beautiful in the breezy old wood ; when 
they gathered wild flowers, waded in the 
brook, and tumbled in the grass, without 
fear of soiling their clothes, — their gray 
peasant gowns, jerkins, and hose, — and 
without fear of tiresome reproofs for their 
merry frolics and joyous laughter. But 
people can't be great princes and prin- 
cesses without paying for their grandeur, 
in quiet ease, healthy sport, and careless 
happiness. 


CHEVY CHACE. 


It was in the reign of Henry the Sixth, 
of England, and of James the First, of 
Scotland, that the hot-headed Percy, Earl 
of Northumberland, made a vow, and swore 
a great oath, that he would hunt for three 
good days among the Cheviot Hills, in 
spite of his Scottish foe — the brave and 
mighty Earl Douglas — and all his clan. 
He declared that he would kill the fattest 
harts in all the forest, and carry them 
away to feast upon in his grand castle. 
When the bold Douglas heard this, he 
laughed, in a grim, mocking way, and sent 
the Percy word to look for him , also, at that 
merry hunting. 

Lord Percy came out of Bamboro, with 
a company of fifteen hundred archers, and 
began the chase among the beautiful Che- 
viot Hills, early on a Monday morning, in 

c 


34 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

the golden autumn time. Fast and far 
they rode through the forest, following 
their eager hounds, which pressed close 
upon the flying deer. Now they galloped 
up hills ; now they floundered through 
marshy places ; now they leaped fallen 
trees ; now they tore through thick brush- 
wood ; now they dashed through quiet 
streams, breaking down flowering shrubs, 
crushing small wild-wood flowers, startling 
little song-birds from their nests, shaking 
down showers of many-colored leaves, chas- 
ing down the panting hart, and bathing 
their swift arrows in his gushing blood; 
so carrying noise, and tumult, and terror, 
and death wherever they went. 

By noon they had killed a hundred fat 
deer. Then they blew a loud bugle-call, 
and all came together to see the quarter- 
ing of the game. Then the proud Lord 
Percy said, “ The doughty Douglas prom- 
ised to meet us here, to-day; but I knew full 
well the braggart Scot would fail to keep 
his word.” 


CHEVY CHACE. 


35 


Just then, one of his squires called his 
attention to a sight which quickly changed 
his opinion of the Scottish chief. 

Down below, in Tiviotdale, along the 
borders of the Tweed, came a host of full 
two thousand men, armed with bows and 
spears, bills and brands. As soon as they 
came near to the hunters, they cried out, 
‘‘Leave off quartering the deer, and look 
to your bows ; for never, since you were 
born, have you had greater need of them 
than now.” 

The Douglas rode in front of his men, 
his white plumes dancing in the wind, and 
his brazen armor flashing in the mid-day 
sun ; and when he spoke his voice was 
like a trumpet, — so clear, and strong, and 
threatening. 

“ Ho, there ! ” he cried ; “ what men, 
or whose men are you ? And who gave 
you leave to hunt in Cheviot, in spite of 
me ? ” 

Then Lord Percy, with a black frown, 
and a voice like thunder, answered, “We 


36 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

will not tell thee what men, nor whose 
men we are ; hut we will hunt here, in 
this chace, in spite of thee and all thy 
clan. We have killed the fattest harts in 
all these forests, and we intend to take 
them home and make merry with them.’' 

“ By my troth ! ” answered the Doug- 
las, “for that boasting speech, one or the 
other of us must die this day ! But, my 
Lord Percy, it were a great pity to kill all 
these guiltless men, in our quarrel. We 
are both nobles of high degree, and well 
matched ; so let our men stand aside, 
while we two fight it out.” 

The Percy agreed to this ; but neither 
his nor the Douglas' men would consent to 
stand still while their lords were fighting. 

So the English archers bent their bows, 
and let fly a perfect shower of arrows, and 
the Scottish spearmen charged upon them. 
Then the English and Scots both drew their 
swords, and fought face to face, and foot to 
foot. And so began one of the most terri- 
ble fights that the sun ever looked upon. 


CHEVY CHACE. 


37 


Soon the Douglas and the Percy came to- 
gether, and fought till the blood spurted 
through their armor, and sprinkled all the 
ground around them in a thick, red rain. 

At last, the Douglas cried, “ Yield, 
Percy, and I will take thee to our Scot- 
tish king, and thou shalt be nobly treated, 
and have thy ransom free ; for thou art the 
bravest man that I ever conquered in all 
my fighting ! ” 

“No!"' replied the proud earl; “I 
have told thee before, and I tell thee 
again, I will never yield to any man liv- 
ing ; so lay on ! ” 

Just then an arrow, sent by a stout Eng- 
lish archer, came singing sharply through 
the air, and pierced deep into the breast 
of the Douglas. He gave one cry, — 
“Fight on, my merry men, while you 
may; for all my days are over ! ” and then 
straightened himself out and died. 

Lord Percy took the dead man’s hand, 
and said, “ Wo ’s me ! to have saved thy 
life I would have parted with my lands; 

4 


38 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

for in all the country there was not a 
braver or better man ! ” 

As he stood there lamenting, a Scottish 
knight, called Sir Hugh Montgomery, came 
galloping up on a swift steed, and drove his 
spear clean through Lord Percy, so that he 
never spoke more. Then an archer of 
Northumberland took aim at Sir Hugh, 
with an arrow tipped with a white swan's 
plume, and the next moment the knight 
fell from his saddle ; and the plume on the 
arrow that stuck in his breast was no 
longer white, but red. 

And so they went on till evening, and 
still the battle was not done. Then they 
fought by the moonlight, until the night 
winds sighed about them, and the skies 
wept still tears of dew, and the fearful little 
stars glinted down upon them through the 
moaning tre^s. 

In the morning, it was found that of the 
fifteen hundred archers of England, there 
were living but fifty-three ; and of the two 
thousand spearmen of Scotland but fifty- 


CHEVY CHACE. 


39 


five, and these were so weary and wounded 
that they gave up the fight. 

But there were seen many yet sadder 
sights on Cheviot battle-field, when the 
widows and orphans, the fathers and moth- 
ers, and sisters and young brothers, came 
to search for their dead. They looked 
eagerly here and there ; and when they 
found the beloved forms, still and cold, 
and ghastly with red death-wounds, there 
was weeping and bitter mourning ; and 
many a cry of despairing agony rung out 
on the dewy morning air. 

At length, homeward turned the mourn- 
ers, bearing their dead on rude biers, made 
of birch and hazel branches. As they 
passed slowly through the shadowy wood, 
the wind blowing through the old oaks 
and mournful pines above them made a 
sad and solemn music ; and the young 
trees murmured and trembled at their 
steps, and flung down pitying dew-drops 
upon the dead. The birds ceased their 
singing till the procession passed by ; and 


40 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

now and then a wild doe looked out 
through the thick branches, and seemed, 
with her soft, melancholy eyes, to sorrow 
rather than rejoice over the brave hunters, 
who would level the lance and direct the 
arrow no more. 

When it was told to the Scottish King 
James, at Edinburgh, that the noble Doug- 
las had been slain at Cheviot, he cried, 
“Alas, woe is me! for there is not and 
never will be such another captain in all 
Scotland/ ’ 

But when word was carried to King 
Henry, at London, that Lord Percy had 
been killed at Cheviot, he said, “ May 
God have mercy on his soul ! I have a 
hundred captains in England as good as 
ever he was ; nevertheless, I pledge my 
life to avenge thy death, my gallant 
Percy ! ” 

To fulfil this angry vow, he went to bat- 
tle against the Scottish king, and made the 
lives of six-and-thirty of his bravest knights, 
and many hundred gentlemen and soldiers, 
pay for the life of the Percy. 


CHEVY CHACE. 


41 


Soon, the Scots avenged themselves , 
then, the English ; till it seemed that there 
would be no end to the fighting, and blood- 
shed, and sorrow that came from that hunt in 
the Cheviot Hills, most often called “ Chevy 
Chace.” For century after century, the 
descendants of the men who fought there 
were at deadly strife ; and few, I fear, 
were as noble foes as the great Douglas 
and Lord Percy. At last, they forgot that 
the first cause of the quarrel was a dispute 
about the right to kill a few deer, between 
two chieftains who were reconciled in death, 
and they went on hating, and robbing, and 
killing one another ; fighting, all the while, 
in the darkness of ignorance, and supersti- 
tion, and fierce, wicked passions. But after 
a while, God sent a better day to England 
and Scotland, — a day of knowledge and 
true religion ; and by its light these men 
saw that they were brothers, — flung down 
their swords, clasped hands, and were at 

peace forever. 

4 * 


THE KING AND THE MILLER OF 
MANSFIELD. 


Once upon a time, the young King 
Henry the Second, of England, was chas- 
ing the deer in his forest of Sherwood, — 
a sport of which he was exceedingly fond. 
All day long he rode with his princes and 
nobles ; but being mounted on the swiftest 
horse, and being the most gallant and de- 
termined huntsman, he at length outrode 
them all, and found himself, at twilight, 
quite alone, and lost in the mazes of the 
wood. In vain he wound his horn, shouted, 
and halloed. There came to his ear no 
answering sound of bugle, or voice, or gal- 
loping horses, or baying hounds. 

In this strait, the king felt no longer the 
ardor of the chase ; but he did feel weari- 
ness and hunger, and longed for a shelter, 
supper, and a bed, however rude. He wan- 
dered up and down for a while, all bewil- 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


43 


dered, and not a little troubled, lest he 
should fall a prey to the outlaws who in- 
fested those dense forest shades. But at 
length, quite by accident, he struck upon 
a path which led him out into the open 
country, and on to a public road. Here 
he happened to meet a man whom, by his 
whitened dress, he knew to be a miller, 
and whom he courteously accosted, asking 
the nearest way to Nottingham, where, at 
that time, he was holding his court. The 
miller looked up at him very suspiciously, 
and answered, “ Sir, I intend no saucy 
jest ; but I think what I think, and that 
is, that thou dost not come so far out of 
thy way for nothing.’ ’ 

“ Why, man,” said the king, pleasantly, 
“ what dost thou take me for, that thou 
passest such sudden judgment upon me?” 

“ Good faith, sir ! ” replied the miller ; 
“ and to speak plain, I think thou art 
some gentleman-thief of the forest. So 
stand back there in the dark. Don’t dis- 


44 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

mount, lest I crack thy knavish crown with 
my cudgel ! ” 

“Nay, friend, thou dost do me great 
wrong,” answered the king. “I am an 
honest gentleman. I have lost my way, 
and I want supper and lodging for the 
night.” 

“ I do not believe that thou hast one 
groat in thy purse, for all thy gay clothes,” 
said the miller. “ Thou dost carry all thy 
silver on thy outside, like a pheasant.” 

“ Wrong, again. I have money enough 
to pay for all I call for.” 

“ Well, if thou art truly an honest man, 
and canst pay for it, I will gladly give thee 
lodging and food.” 

£ ‘ I have always been accounted such a 
man,” said the king. “ Here ’s my hand 
on’t.” 

“ Not so fast,” said the miller; “ I must 
know thee better, ere we shake hands. 
Thou mayst be a hobgoblin for all I know.” 
With that, the good man led the way to 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


45 


his house, which he entered, his guest dis- 
mounting and following him. 

When they stood in the full firelight, — 
“ Now, sir, let me see what thou art like, ,, 
said the miller. 

“ Look thy fill. Do not spare my mod- 
esty/ ’ replied the merry monarch. 

“Well,” said the miller, after a close 
and curious inspection, “ on the whole, I 
like thy face ; it is an honest one. Thou 
mayst stay with us till the morning.” 

The miller's buxom wife, who was busy 
cooking a supper, the savory steam of 
which was filling all the cottage, here 
paused from her work, to put in a word, — 
“Ay, by my troth, husband, he is a comely 
youth ; yet it is best to have a care. Art 
thou no runaway servitor, my pretty lad ? 
Show us thy passport, and it please thee ; 
so all shall be well.” 

The young king, taking off his hat, and 
bowing low, replied, “ I have no passport, 
my fair mistress ; and I was never a serv- 
itor. I am but a poor huntsman, belong- 


46 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

ing to the court, who has been parted from 
his fellows and lost his way. I am too 
wearied to ride to Nottingham to-night, so 
crave your kind hospitality.' ’ 

The good woman was so well pleased 
with these words that she whispered to 
her husband, — 44 It seems this youth is of 
respectable family. Both his dress and his 
manners prove it ; and it were a sin to turn 
him out of doors." 

4 ‘Ay, good wife," said the miller, “he 
shows he has had some breeding, by the 
respectful way he has of speaking to his 
betters. A decent lad, I doubt not." 

“Well, young man," said the dame, 
turning to her guest, 4 4 thou art welcome ; 
and, though I say it, thou shalt be well 
lodged, in my house. I will give thee a 
bed of fresh straw, and good brown hempen 
sheets, span clean ; and thou shalt sleep 
like a prince." 

“Ay, sir," put in the miller; 44 and 
thou shalt have no worse a bed-follow than 
our son Bichard." 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


47 


The king made a wry face, at the idea 
of sharing his bed with a stranger ; but 
Master Richard — a boorish, bushy-headed, 
but jolly-looking youth, who sat in the 
chimney corner, watching the pot boil — 
called out, bluntly, “ Nay, father, I have 
a word to say to that. First, my good 
fellow, tell me truly, art thou right cleanly 
and wholesome ?” 

The king burst into a hearty laugh, as 
he answered, “ Ay, friend; I T1 answer for 
it, thouTt have no cause to complain of 
me on that score/ * 

Soon after this, they all sat down to sup- 
per, which consisted of hot bag-puddings, 
apple-pies, and good, foamy ale, which last 
was passed from one to another in a large 
brown bowl. The miller drank first, to his 
guest's good health ; and the merry king 
did not disdain to take the bowl in turn, 
and drink to his host and hostess, with 
thanks for their good cheer ; “ And also,” 
he added, with a courtly bow toward Rich- 


48 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

ard, 44 permit me to drink to your gallant 
son.” 

44 Then do it quickly,” said Dick, 44 and 
pass the bowl ; for I am dry.” 

“Now, wife,” said the miller, “ let us 
have a taste of 4 lightfoot.’ ” At this, the 
good woman brought from her pantry a 
venison pastry, and set it before her hus- 
band. He helped his guest to a portion, 
saying, “ Eat, sir, but make no waste 
It’s a dainty dish.” 

4 4 Ay, by my faith ! I find it the dainti- 
est dish that ever I tasted,” said the king, 
who was hungry enough to relish much 
worse fare. 

44 By my faith! it is no dainty at all,” 
said Richard, 44 seeing that we eat it every 
day.” 

44 In what place may the meat you call 
‘lightfoot’ be bought?” asked the king. 

44 Why, as for that,” answered Dick, 
“ we don’t buy it at all. We fetch it on 
our backs from the forest yonder. To say 
truth, we now and then make free with the 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


49 


king’s deer, seeing that he hath more of a 
good thing than he needs, or deserves.” 

“So, then, this is venison?” said the 
king. 

“ Ay, — any fool may know that. We 
are never without two or three, up there 
under the roof, — excellent fat bucks. But 
mind thou tell no tales, when thou leavest 
us. We would not for two-pence that the 
king should know of it ; he might be vil- 
lain enough to hang us.” 

“ Don’t be uneasy, my friend,” said 
royal Henry. “ He shall never know any 
more of it through me, I promise thee.” 
After this, they took a hearty draught of 
ale all around, and went to bed. 

The king slept soundly all night, on his 
rude couch of straw, being too tired to be 
kept awake even by the lusty snoring of 
his bed-fellow, Richard. 

In the morning, after a hearty break- 
fast, — for which, as for his supper and 
lodging, he paid handsomely in gold, — as 
the king was about mounting his horse to 
5 » 


50 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

depart for Nottingham, a large party of 
his nobles, who had been hunting for him, 
in all directions, for many hours, galloped 
up to the miller’s cottage ; and, seeing 
their sovereign, dismounted instantly, and 
knelt before him, craving his pardon for 
having lost sight of him in the chase, the 
day previous. 

When the miller perceived the lofty rank 
of his guest, and remembered how familiar- 
ly he had treated him, he stood speechless 
with terror, trembling from head to foot, 
expecting nothing less than that he should 
be hanged before his own door. The king 
saw his fright, and was secretly amused, 
but said nothing. Presently, he drew his 
sword slowly from its scabbard. At this, 
the poor miller dropped on his knees, and 
begged for his life, with big tears rolling 
down his cheeks. Just behind him knelt 
his wife, crying piteously. As for Master 
Richard, he had valiantly turned and run 
for Sherwood Forest, as soon as he found 
who had been his bed-fellow 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


51 


The king lifted his sword. “ Don't cut 
off my head, your majesty ! It wont do 
anybody else as much good as it does 
me! ” cried the miller. 

The king brought down his sword, — 
not on the miller's neck, but lightly on 
his shoulder, — and said, “ Rise, Sir John 
Cockle ! " 


When King Henry had returned from 
Nottingham, to his palace, at Westminster, 
he was one day talking over with his no- 
bles the sports and pastimes of the sea- 
son ; and he then declared that of all the 
adventures he had ever had, his getting 
lost in the forest of Sherwood, and his 
entertainment by the Miller of Mansfield, 
had afforded him the most amusement. 

“ A thought strikes me!" he exclaimed. 
“The great feast of St. George is approach- 
ing. We will invite our new knight, his 
wife, and his son Richard, to be our guests 
on that occasion. How say you, my lords ; 
does not the plan promise sport? ” 


52 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

The proposal was received by merry ac- 
clamations and laughter, by the nobles ; 
and an officer (called a pursuivant) was 
dispatched on the business at once. 

When the king’s messenger entered the 
miller’s house, he addressed the simple old 
countryman with the most profound respect, 
saying, “ God save your worship, and your 
worship’s fair lady, and send to your wor- 
ship’s son Richard — that sweet, gentle, and 
gallant young squire — good fortune and 
happiness ! Our king sends you courteous 
greeting, and begs that you will all three 
come to court, on St. George’s day.” 

“I doubt,” said the miller, cc this is a 
jest of his majesty. What should we do 
at court ? Faith, I ’m afraid of such 
jests.” 

“As for me,” said Richard, ruefully, 
“ I look to be hanged, at the very least.” 

“ Nay r upon my word,” answered the 
pursuivant, “ you mistake. The king is to 
make a great feast, in your honor. So do 
not fail to come.” 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 53 

“If that is the case, sir messenger / * 
said the miller, pompously, “thou hast 
pleased my worship right well. So here 
are three farthings for thy good tidings. 
Let me see; — ah, commend my worship 
to the king, and say that we will wait 
upon him, with right good will, on St. 
George's day, with the other nobles of 
the realm." 

The pursuivant, refraining with difficulty 
from smiling at such simplicity, took. the 
reward, and bowed himself out of the cot- 
tage, in the most humble and respectful 
manner. He returned to Westminster, in 
a merry mood, and showed his three far- 
things to the young king, who laughed 
heartily at the knight’s liberal bounty. 

When the messenger was gone, the mil- 
ler said to his wife, — “Here’s a pretty 
pass ! There ’ll be no end of the expenses 
we shall be put to for fine clothes, horses, 
and serving men, saddles and bridles. A 
plague on court feasts ! This one will 
ruin us." 


5 * 


54 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

“ Tush, Sir John ! ” said the dame (she 
always addressed her husband by his new 
title ; and she used it a great deal, to get 
the hang of it) : — “ tush, Sir John ! 
Folk cannot consort with kings, and spend 
naught, Sir John. But thou knowest I am 
a thrifty dame, and thou shalt be at no ex- 
pense for me, I promise thee, Sir John. I 
will turn and trim up my old russet gown, 
and make it as good as new. Then, Sir 
John, we can ride on our good mill-horses, 
— -I on a pillion behind thee, and Dick 
by himself, as becomes a gallant young 
squire.” 

The miller — who had always, even since 
he was made a great man, done pretty 
much as his good wife advised — consented 
to this. And so they set forth ; — jolly Mas- 
ter Richard, in a new leathern jerkin, with 
a brave cock’s feather in his cap, riding 
proudly in front of his parents, who, on one 
stout mill-horse, jogged leisurely along. 

The king and his nobles* being apprised 
of the approach to the palace of their rus- 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


55 


tic guests, went out to meet them, in great 
state. 

“Welcome, sir knight ! ” said the merry 
monarch ; 4 £ welcome to court, with thy 
gay lady, and that brave squire, thy son.” 

4 4 Out on thee ! ” said Dick, sheepishly. 
44 Thou dost not know me.” 

44 Surely, I do,” replied the king, smil- 
ing. 44 Thou didst sleep in the same bed 
with me, once upon a time.” 

44 Ay, sir, I mind it well,” said Dick; 
44 and a most uncomfortable bed-fellow 
thou wast, — taking a royal share of the 
straw. Save me from such grand bed- 
fellows, say I ! ” 

44 Speak civily to my friend, the king, 
thou unmannerly knave, or, by my knight- 
hood, thou shalt rue it ! ” cried Sir John, 
in wrath. 

But the king only laughed good-humor- 
edly, and conducted his guests into the 
great hall of his palace. Here, giving a 
hand to the miller and his wife, he pre- 
sented them to the stately court ladies, 


56 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

princesses, and duchesses, who were all, 
in their turn, extremely polite. Dame 
Cockle, who would not he outdone in good 
manners, dropped a funny little curtsey at 
every word, and smiled graciously upon all 
around her. 

At length they all sat down to the feast, 
— a sumptuous banquet of richly-cooked 
viands and costly dainties, served with 
great ceremony, in vessels of silver and 
gold. When they had eaten heartily, the 
king drank to the health of Sir John 
Cockle, in a cup of malmsey wine, and 
again thanked him for his hospitality. 

“ Now I think of the thing,” he added, 
with a sly smile, “ I would that we had 
here some of thy ‘ lightfoot ’ pastry, Sir 
John.” 

“ Ho, there ! ” cried Richard ; “I make 
bold to say it is knavery, after having eat- 
en of it, to betray us.” 

“ Why, friend, art thou angry ? ” asked 
the king. “ That is unkind; I thought 
thou wouldst take the joke, and pledge 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 57 

thy bed-fellow heartily in wine, or good 
Nottinghamshire ale.” 

“Wait, then, till I have dined,” said 
Dick. “ Thou dost feed us with so many 
little fiddling dishes, that a man is never 
filled. One black pudding were worth 
them all.” 

“Ay, Master Richard, that were a rare 
good thing, could a man but have one 
here,” replied the king. 

At this, Dick rose and pulled an enor- 
mous one out of his wallet, — a portion of 
the refreshment provided for his journey. 
The king, pretending great eagerness, at- 
tempted to snatch it ; but Dick drew it 
back, saying, “Hold, my good sir ! Keep 
to thy court dainties ; this is meet for thy 
master.” 

Even this saucy speech, as the king 
took it merrily, was followed by roars 
of laughter ; and the fun and frolic con- 
tinued to the end of the banquet, and for 
a long time after. For, as soon as they 
rose from the table, king, courtiers, and 


68 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

gay ladies, prepared to dance. Henry- 
selected partners for Sir John and Master 
Richard, and himself danced with Dame 
Cockle. Such sport as those rustics made 
for them, — with their awkward blunders, 
and their wild rollicking ways, — those great 
lords and ladies had never known before. 
They laughed till the tears ran down their 
cheeks, and their sides did ache ; and the 
good-humored country folk laughed with 
them, taking all the merriment in good 
part. 

After the dance, King Henry thanked 
his guests for joining in and adding to his 
amusement ; and then, looking round on 
the young court ladies, he said to Richard, 
“ And now, my gallant young friend, of 
all these noble damsels, which one dost 
thou like best ? And which will it please 
thee to wed ? ” 

At these words, all the smiling beauties 
grew suddenly serious, thinking that his 
majesty was carrying the joke a little too 
far. But Master Richard, merely glanc- 


THE KING AND THE MILLER. 


59 


ing at the fairest of them, coolly replied, 
44 Faith, I want none of them. I like bet- 
ter my own red-headed sweetheart, Judy 
Grumble.’* 

At this, there was more laughter, and 
all those pretty young ladies tossed their 
heads in merry disdain. 

Then the king, calling to him the jolly 
miller, appointed him overseer of Sherwood 
Forest, with a pension of three hundred 
pounds, yearly. “Adieu, good friend,” 
he said ; “let us see thee once a quarter. 
And, Sir John, take heed that thou steal 
no more of my deer.” 

And this is the end of the story of 4 4 The 
King and the Miller of Mansfield.” 


THE ENGLISH MERCHANT AND THE 
SARACEN LADY. 


In the reign of Henry the First, of Eng- 
land, called Beauclerc , or Fine Scholar 
(for he was actually so learned that he 
could write his own name, — a great attain- 
ment for a king, in those days), there 
lived in London a rich young merchant, 
named Gilbert a Becket. 

In that simple old time, the wonders of 
science and art, among which we walk and 
live just as if they had always been, — like 
the trees, the flowers, the sky, and the 
stars, — were never thought of, or dreamed 
of, except by the great poets, who, maybe, 
with their prophet-eyes, looked away into 
the far future, and saw them looming up 
above the coming ages, like mountain- 
peaks in the distance of a landscape. Then 
the great oceans could heave, and swell, 
and roar, and rage, and toss their mad 


* 








THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 61 


frothing waves up at the sky, as if to defy 
the great God ; and then, obedient to his 
will, grow quiet and smooth again — year 
after year, without one single ship ventur- 
ing over their vast expanse, to be made 
afraid by their violence, or flattered by their 
calm, — and all the commerce of the world 
was scarcely equal to that of the smallest 
and poorest kingdoms of our times. Then 
going to sea was considered more perilous 
than going into battle ; voyagers never 
failed to make their wills, and set their 
worldly affairs in order, before they weighed 
anchor and set sail for foreign parts. To 
be sure, it has lately seemed very much as 
though we were fast going back to those 
old, doubtful, dangerous times, — those dark 
ages of navigation ; and that, after all our 
wonderful improvements and discoveries, 
we can count very little upon safe and 
prosperous voyages. 

But to return to Gilbert a Becket. He 
was thought a brave and adventurous man, 
when he left his comfortable English home, 
6 


62 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

and sailed for the Holy Land, to trade with 
the rich Syrians for satins, velvet, and 
gems, which he meant to bring to England 
and sell at a great profit. He probably 
calculated by this speculation to double 
his fortune, and perhaps be able to buy a 
title, and so become one of the nobles of 
the land, and live in a brave castle, where 
he would receive the king and court, and 
entertain them in princely style. But, 
alas ! titles and royal guests were not for 
him ; and all the castle he was ever to lay 
claim to, was such “ a castle in the air” 
as any one of us may build. He was taken 
prisoner by the Turks, robbed of his ship, 
sold as a slave, fettered, and set at work 
in the palace gardens of Mahmoud, a ter- 
rible, fierce-eyed, black-bearded, big-tur- 
baned Saracen chief. 

It was a very hard fortune, that of poor 
Gilbert. He was obliged to toil from morn- 
ing till night, digging and spading, plant- 
ing and weeding ; and all the while, with 
the disadvantage of not knowing much 


THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 63 


about the gardening business, and of hav- 
ing a heavy chain dragging and clanking 
at his ankles. You may depend that he 
felt if he could get safe back to England 
he would never more aspire to castles and 
titles, nor trouble himself if the king and 
the court never should eat a good dinner, 
or shake their heels at a ball again. 

But often out of our greatest misfortune 
come our best good and happiness ; and 
hope and joy often follow times of fear and 
sorrow, as beautiful rainbows are made out 
of storms that have just darkened the sky, 
and beaten down the flowers. One even- 
ing, just as the muezzin from the minarets 
was calling all pious Mussulmen to prayers, 
Gilbert a Becket stood leaning against a 
palm tree, resting a little from his daily 
toil, and thinking longingly of his country 
and home. Just then, a noble young Sar- 
acen lady, of marvelous beauty, called 
Zarina, chanced that way, on her evening 
walk, and was very much struck by the 
appearance of the stranger. In truth, as 


64 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

Gilbert stood there, leaning so gracefully 
against the palm, with his pale face cast 
down, and his soft, auburn hair, half veiling 
his sad eyes, — to say nothing of his long 
golden eyelashes, and his curling, silken 
moustache, — he was a very handsome and 
interesting young man ; and, in spite of 
that coarse gardner’s dress, and that slav- 
ish chain, looked as proud and noble as a 
prince. 

Zarina thought so, and, though very mod- 
est and timid, drew near to speak a few 
kind words to him. He looked up, at the 
sound of her light step, and, for the first 
time in many months, he smiled, glad- 
dened by the sight of her beautiful, inno- 
cent face. 

The ballad does not tell just how these 
two became acquainted ; but it is certain 
that they soon grew to be excellent friends, 
and managed to meet often, and have long 
walks and talks in the shaded alleys and 
bowers of Mahmoud's gardens. They first 
talked of the birds and flowers ; then of 


THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 65 


the stars, and the moonlight ; then of love, 
and then of God. Gilbert told Zarina of 
the Christian’s blessed faith, and related 
all the beautiful and marvelous stories of 
our Lord Jesus; and Zarina wondered, and 
wept, and believed. 

Gilbert had learned the Saracen lan- 
guage, and spoke it very well ; but Zarina 
did not understand the English at all. The 
first word of it that ever she spoke was 
“yes” which Gilbert taught her to say 
when he asked her if she would be his 
wife, whenever he could gain his freedom. 
But month after month — a whole year — 
went by, and Gilbert was still a captive. 

One day, when Zarina met her lover in 
a shady garden- walk, she said, in a low, 
gentle voice, and with her tender eyes cast 
down, “I am a Christian now, dear Gil- 
bert ; — I pray to thy God morning and 
night. Thou knowest I am an orphan. 
I love no one in all the world but thee ; 
then why should I stay here ? Why 
shouldst thou linger longer in bondage ? 

6* E 


66 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

Let us both fly to England. God will 
guide us safely over the wide, dark waters ; 
for we are Christians, and need not fear 
anything. I will meet thee to-night, on 
the sea-shore, and bring gold and jewels 
enough to purchase a vessel and hire a 
skillful crew. And when, 0, my Gilbert, 
we are afloat on the broad, blue sea, sail- 
ing toward thy home, thou wilt bless me, 
and love me ; wilt thou not ? ” 

The merchant kissed the maiden's hand, 
and promised to meet her on the strand, at 
the appointed hour. And he did not fail ; 
but long he walked the lonely shore, and 
no light-footed Zarina came flitting through 
the deep night-shadows, and stealing to 
his side. North, south, east, and west he 
looked ; but all in vain. The night was 
clear, the winds whispered low, the little 
waves slid up the shining shore, and seemed 
to invite him to sail away over them, to the 
great sea beyond ; but the stars overhead 
twinkled so merrily, and winked so know- 
ingly, that he almost fancied they had be- 


THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 67 


trayed the story of his and Zarina’s love 
and intended flight. At length he heard a 
quick, light step, and sprang forward with 
a joyful cry. Alas ! it was not Zarina, but 
her faithful nurse, Safie, who came to tell 
him that Zarina’s love had been discovered, 
that her kinsmen had confined her in a 
strong, guarded tower, and that he must 
escape alone. She sent him a casket of 
gold and gems, with a promise that as soon 
as possible she would make her escape and 
come to him in London. 

There really was nothing f >r Gilbert a 
Becket to do but to accept Zarina’s casket 
of jewels, and follow her advice. So, after 
sending her many loving farewell messages 
by Safie, he went. 

He had a prosperous voyage, and reached 
London in safety, where he gave his friends 
a joyful surprise ; for they had given him 
up for dead. 

Year after year went by, and still he saw 
nothing, heard nothing, of his noble Sara- 
cen love, Zarina ; and at last he grew to 


68 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

think of her very sorrowfully and tenderly, 
as of one dead. But Zarina lived, and 
lived for him whom she loved, and who had 
taught her to love God. For years she 
was kept imprisoned in that lonely, guarded 
tower, near the sea, where she could only 
put her sorrow into mournful songs, and 
sigh her love out on the winds that blew 
toward England, and gaze up at the bright, 
kindly stars, and pray for Gilbert. But 
one night, while the guard slept, the brave 
maiden stole out on to the parapet, and 
leaped down many feet, to the ground below. 
She soon sprang up, unharmed, and made 
her way to the strand, when she took pas- 
sage on a foreign vessel for Stamboul. 
Now, all the English that this poor girl 
remembered were the words “ Gilbert ” and 
“London” These she repeated, in sad, 
pleading, inquiring tones, to every one she 
met ; but nobody understood what she meant 
by them. 

From Stamboul she went on her weary, 
wandering way, from port to port, and city 


THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 69 


to city, till she had journeyed through 
many strange countries, repeating, every- 
where, those two words of English ; but all 
in vain ; for, though everybody had heard 
of London, none knew Gilbert. Yet the 
people were very kind, and gave her food 
and shelter, out of pity for her sad face, 
and in return for the sweet songs which she 
sung. 

At length, after many months of lonely 
and toilsome wandering, she reached Eng- 
land, and found herself amidst the busy, 
hurrying throngs of London. She gazed 
about her bewildered, and almost despairing, 
at finding it so large a place ; — it would be 
so much the harder to find him. Yet still, 
patiently and steadily, up and down the 
long streets, she went, — through market- 
place and square, — past churches and pal- 
aces, — singing her mournful songs, — 
speaking softly, and more and more sadly, 
the one beloved word, “ Gilbert ! ” 

One evening, as Gilbert a Becket, the 
rich merchant, sat at the banquet-table in 


70 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

his splendid London house, entertaining a 
gay company of rich and noble guests, a 
servant brought him word that a beautiful 
Saracen maiden, pale and sorrowful-look- 
ing, stood in the square without, singing 
sad songs, and repeating his name over and 
over. In a moment Gilbert thought of his 
beloved Zarina, and, springing up from the 
table, he rushed out of his brilliant hall, into 
the street, where poor Zarina stood, with 
her long, dark hair glistening with the chill 
night- dew, and her sweet face looking very 
white and tearful in the moonlight. 

He knew her at a glance, though she 
was sadly changed from the fair young girl 
he had left in the gardens of Mahmoud, as 
gay-hearted as the birds, and as blooming 
as the flowers. He called her name, he 
caught her in his arms, and the next time 
that she spoke the dear word, “ Gilbert ! ” 
she murmured it against his heart, while 
his lips pressed her cheeks, and his eyes 
dropped happy, loving tears upon her brow. 
He took her into his princely house, and it 


THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 7l 


became her home from that hour. She was 
baptized, and took the Christian name of 
Matilda; but Gilbert always- called her 
Zarina ; for he said he loved that best. 

The faithful lovers were married, and 
lived together for many years, happy, 
honored, and beloved. Their eldest son, 
Thomas a Becket, was a powerful and re- 
nowned archbishop in the reign of Henry 
the Second. 

And so ends the true story of the “ Eng- 
lish Merchant and the Saracen Lady.” 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER, OF BED- 
NALL-GREEN. 


In the old feudal times, some six hun- 
dred years ago, when England was in a 
troubled, unsettled state, often convulsed 
and desolated by civil wars, there might 
have been seen, through many summers, sit- 
ting in the shade of an oak tree, on Bednall- 
Green, — a part of London town, — a cer- 
tain beggar-man, blind, hut of a very noble 
and venerable appearance. He was led by 
a dog, and sometimes he was accompanied 
by his wife, — a handsome and stately per- 
son, though clad in gray russet, like any 
poor peasant woman, — and sometimes by 
his daughter, a beautiful little girl, whom 
he called Bessee. 

When this child grew into womanhood 
her beauty was so remarkable that in spite 
of her humble parentage she had many ad- 
mirers and suitors. But the fathers of her 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


73 


lovers would never consent to a marriage 
with a beggar’s daughter, and their moth- 
ers despised her, and would sometimes come 
to reproach and scold her to her face, as 
though the poor girl could help her beauty 
or her birth. 

At length she grew very discontented 
and sorrowful, and told her father and 
mother that she wished to leave Bednall- 
Green, where she was creating so much 
disquiet in respectable families, and that 
she had resolved to go forth to seek her 
fortune elsewhere. 

It was long ere the beggar and his wife 
would consent to part with their darling 
Bessee. But at last, as they saw that 
she was no longer cheerful or comfortable 
at home, they gave her their blessing, with 
kisses and many tears, and bade her go. 
She set forth at night, to avoid being fol- 
lowed by her troublesome lovers. She kept 
up heart until after she was out of sight or 
hearing of her parents ; then she burst into 
tears, and sobbed bitterly for many a weary 


74 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

mile. She walked all night long ; and 
just at daybreak entered the town of Rum- 
ford, where she found entertainment at the 
Queen’s Arms. 

The mistress of the inn was so pleased 
with the stranger that she wished to keep 
her for a housemaid. Yet she was so puz- 
zled by Bessee’s appearance — for though 
clad in gray russet, the maiden had the air 
and delicate beauty of a born lady — that 
she did not venture to offer her the situa- 
tion. But after a little while Bessee very 
humbly asked to be employed at the inn as 
a servant ; and both master and mistress 
were glad to engage her. So amiable and 
prudent was she that all in the household 
grew to loving her very dearly. And that 
was not all ; — greatly to the pretty maid’s 
annoyance, she was soon surrounded by as 
many admirers as at Bednall-Green. All 
the gay young men of the town seemed 
suddenly to have discovered that the finest 
ale and the best cakes in Rumford were to 
be found at the little roadside inn, where 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


75 


served the fair blue-eyed girl, to whom 
every body gave the name of £ ‘ Pretty Bes- 
see.” Thither they flocked, in crowds, 
greatly to the delight of the innkeeper and 
his wife, whose business thrived the more, 
the more the maid’s beauty and grace were 
noised about. But Bessee, though kind 
and courteous to all, was modest and pru- 
dent ; and though her lovers sang her 
praises in sweet songs, very tender and 
mournful, and though they sent her beauti- 
ful gifts of silver and gold, when they 
sewed for her hand, she always shook her 
head firmly, and said with a sigh, “Nay, 
nay ; none of gentle blood or high estate 
should wed with me.” 

Four suitors, at one time, fair Bessee had, 
who loved her so fondly that they would 
not be put off by a shake of her pretty 
head, nor by her “Nay, gentles ! ” though 
many times repeated. The first was a no- 
ble young knight, who came to her dis- 
guised, so that she did not know his rank ; 
yet she liked him best of all. The second 


76 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

was a country gentleman, of a proud and 
ancient family. The third wa3 a rich mer- 
chant of London ; and the fourth was her 
master’s own son, a bold young gallant, 
who swore big oaths of love, and declared 
himself ready to die for “Pretty Bessee,” 
at the shortest notice. 

“If thou wilt marry me,” said the 
knight, c ‘ I will make thee a lady, with the 
greatest joy and pride ; for I am not what 
I seem, but a nobleman of high degree.” 

At these words, Bessee started and 
turned very pale, feeling grieved, not glad, 
to know that the man she liked best of all 
the world was so far above her. 

Then spoke the country gentleman . “If 
thou wilt wed me, thou shalt be a lady as 
fine as any in the land, and never toil more 
with those dainty hands. My life is drear 
without thee, ‘ Pretty Bessee’ ; a wretched 
man am I, for want of thy dear love.” 

Then spoke the rich merchant, saying, 
with a proud smile, “ Choose me for thy 
husband, gentle maid, and thou shalt live 


the beggar's daughter. 


77 


in London, after a gay and gallant fashion. 
My ships shall bring home silks and jew- 
els for thee, and I will love thee better 
than all the world/ ’ 

• When the merchant said this, Bessee 
looked at him very demurely, but with a 
quiet little smile hovering round her sweet, 
rosy mouth, — a smile that seemed to say, 
“ I know thee well, good sir, and just how 
far this great love will go — just how much 
thy brave vows are worth/ ’ She gave the 
same look to the gentleman, and to the inn- 
keeper's son ; but when she glanced at the 
noble face of the knight she sighed. Yet 
to each one she returned the same answer : 
“ I mean always to obey my dear father 
and mother. Thou must first gain their 
consent before I can promise thee my 
love.” 

Each suitor' willingly assented to this, 
and eagerly asked, “ Where does thy good 
father dwell, ‘Pretty Bessee'?” 

Truly and bravely then answered Bes- 
see • “My father, alas! is well known as 


78 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

the old blind beggar of Bednall-Green. 
Daily sits he there, asking charity of all 
good Christians. You cannot miss him. 
When he walks he is led by a dog with a 
bell. A poor, blind old man, God know- 
eth! Yet he is the father of Bessee, to 
whom she oweth and giveth all love and 
duty.” 

The rich merchant drew himself up, 
grew very red in the face, and said, 
bluntly, “Then, fair damsel, thou art not 
for me;” and went his ways in stately 
haste, like one of his ships under full sail. 
The inn-keeper’s gallant son tossed his nose 
high in the air, and said, insolently, “ If it 
be so, look not to be my wife. I cannot 
stoop so low from my degree, even for thy 
pretty face, my winsome lass.” As for the 
gentleman, he took off his plumed hat, and, 
bowing low, said, with a mocking smile, 
“ I pray thy pardon, my fair mistress, but 
thy father’s calling pleases me little. In 
truth, I loathe a beggar’s degree ; and so 
am forced to say adieu to ‘ Pretty Bessee.’ ” 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


79 


The beggar’s noble daughter heard each 
lover’s reply without grief and without 
shame, and looked him out of her presence 
with a smile of quiet scorn. But when it 
came the young knight’s turn to speak her 
breath came fast, and she could not lift her 
eyes to his face, for fear that he, too, might 
disdain her. But there was little cause for 
fear. With a frank laugh, and in a manly, 
cheery voice, he said, “As for me, come 
better or worse, I weigh not gold or rank 
against true love ; and beauty and good- 
ness are the same in every degree. To me 
thou wilt be welcome for thyself alone, my 
‘ Pretty Bessee.’ ” 

You may be sure that the beggar’s 
daughter did not look cold or scornful at 
this brave reply. She blushed with sud- 
den joyfulness, while tears of gratitude and 
affection shone in her sweet blue eyes. 

She soon consented to accompany her 
lover to Bednall- Green, to ask the consent 
of her parents to her marriage. 

But meanwhile the knight’s kinsmen 


80 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

had heard of his strange choice of a wife, 
and were greatly incensed against him ; 
declaring that their ancient and honorable 
family should not be disgraced by such an 
alliance. To prevent their interference 
with his plans, the knight stole away from 
Rumford at daybreak, carrying Bessee be- 
fore him on a swift steed. Away sped they, 
like the wind, toward Bednall-Green ; but 
like the wind came on behind them certain 
gallant young men of Rumford, who had 
heard of “ Pretty Bessee V' elopement, and, 
like so many dogs of the manger, were de- 
termined that if they could not marry her, 
no one should. “ Death, ” they cried, “to 
the bold knave who would rob us of the 
fair maid who pours our ale and serves our 
cakes with such a dainty grace ! ’ ’ 

Just as the lovers had reached the blind 
beggar’s door, the young men overtook 
them, set upon the knight most furiously, 
and would have slain him had not his kins- 
men, also out in pursuit of him, come to 
the rescue. When the noble gentlemen 



J 



t 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


81 


had sent the Kumford gallants about their 
business they began to reproach the knight 
for his folly, and to rail at Bessee for a 
low-born, designing beggar-girl. Then 
up spoke the maid’s father, standing erect, 
a tall, venerable figure, — the great white 
cloud of his silvery hair flung back from 
his brow, and his pale cheek flushing with 
anger, — “ Though I be a beggar-man,” 
he said, “ rail not in this unmannerly way 
at my child,* before mine own door! 
Though she be decked not in velvet and 
jewels, she is not so poor as she seems. I 
will drop angells* with you, for my dear 
little girl ; and if the gold that I shall 
bring forth shall seem to you to make up 
for her lowly birth, and equal what you can 
lay down, you must no longer rail at her, 
or forbid your kinsman to make a lady of 
the blind beggar’s daughter. But first you 
must promise me that all the gold you lay 
down shall be your own.” 


* An “angell ” was an ancient English coin. 

S 


82 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

“So be it ; we promise,’ * cried the 
chief nobleman of the knight’s proud fam- 
ily, with a merry, derisive laugh. 

“ Well, then,” says the blind beggar, 
“ here ’s for my Bessee ! ” throwing down 
an angell. The nobles then threw down 
one, the beggar another, and so on ; till 
all their purses were exhausted, and the 
blind man had dropped full three thousand 
pounds, — often flinging down two or three 
for the gentlemen’s one. Then, when the 
* ground where they stood was completely 
covered with gold, they cried out, “ Hold, 
thou wonderful beggar-man ! We have no 
more. Thou hast fulfilled thy promise 
aright.” 

“Then,” said the old man, authorita- 
tively, like one used to command, “marry 
my daughter to your kinsman ; and here 
are a hundred pounds more, to buy her a 
wedding gown.” 

“Agreed, venerable sir!” was the re- 
sponse. “And now, we look at thy 
daughter more closely, we see that she is 


THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER. 


83 


of marvellous beauty and fairness." This 
said, they each and all took Bessee by the 
hand, and adopted her into their great 
family, with a brotherly kiss, vowing that 
her lips were as sweet and soft as those of 
any grand lady in the realm ; whereat the 
modest maid blushed scarlet, and the 
knight at her side frowned with sudden 
anger. 

After this, Bessee’s father and mother 
embraced her, blessed her, and placed her 
hand in that of her lover. And so was the 
beggar’s daughter betrothed to a great 
noble, comely and passing rich, and, what 
was better, a true and honorable man. 

When the innkeeper’s son heard of Bes- 
see’s good fortune he roared with grief and 
spite. “Three thousand angells ! Woe 
is me!’’ he cried. And the innkeeper’s 
wife said, “ Now thou hast gone and done 
for thyself, thou simpleton!’’ When the 
rich merchant heard of it, rich as he was, 
he cursed his ill luck, as though his best 
ship had foundered at sea. But when the 


84 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

proud country gentleman heard of it, little 
cared he; — “ Natheless, she is a beg- 
gar’s daughter,” he said. 


It was soon announced that the wedding 
of c £ Pretty Bessee ’ ’ was to take place in 
the great cathedral of Westminster, and 
was to be followed by a banquet in the 
palace of her noble lover. All was to be 
conducted with the greatest possible pomp 
and splendor. All sorts of rare dainties, 
rich meats, and costly wines were provided 
for the banquet. Beautiful dresses and 
magnificent jewels were purchased for the 
bride, with palfreys, hawks, and hounds, 
and all kinds of elegant pets and play- 
things. Ladies and pages were appointed 
to wait on her, and her boudoir, or bower, 
was hung anew with lovely blue silk, that 
seemed to drip with pearls, and decorated 
with paintings and gilding, till it was fit 
for a fairy princess. 

This strange and romantic marriage 
made such a noise among the high circles 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


85 


of England that all the nobles and great 
folk were eager to attend the wedding ; — 
the gentlemen curious to see what manner 
of damsel it was who had caused a great 
nobleman to forget his pride of birth, and 
all he owed to his high and mighty ances- 
tors ; — the ladies longing yet dreading to 
behold the face whose beauty had made 
him indifferent to all their high-born pre- 
tensions to good looks. 

Before the high altar of the great cathe- 
dral, Bessee, followed by her ladies and 
pages, and looking resplendantly lovely, 
met her noble lord, in magnificent attire, 
accompanied by a gay troop of gentlemen, 
all jewelled and plumed most gallantly. 

No less a dignitary than a bishop joined 
the hands of the loving pair, and gave 
them his august blessing. Then from the 
vast cathedral organ broke forth a mighty 
melody, so grand, so solemn, that it was 
like the great thunder of heaven softened 
and Christianized, into music. This was 
followed by a burst of singing, so sweet, so 
8 


86 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

triumphant, that it filled every heart, and 
made every soul feel as though it was put- 
ting on its angel-wings, to soar upward, 
with those glad, delicious strains, to a 
purer and brighter world than ours. 

At the banquet, the guests gazed often 
and long at the bride, who sat by her lord, 
at the head of the table, looking so modest 
and gracious that even the proud court 
ladies forgot their envy, in admiration, and 
the best eaters and drinkers slighted the 
dainty dishes and rich wines before them, 
to watch her, and talk of her beauty and 
good fortune. 

At length, one of the nobles exclaimed, 
“ I marvel that we do not see here the 
jolly blind beggar. Methinks he should 
have been bid to his daughter’s wed- 
ding.” 

The bride overheard this, and answered, 
very gently, “My lord, my father was 
too humble, or too proud, to thrust himself 
upon so stately a company. He thinks his 
condition too lowly for such consorting ” 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


87 


“If it were not too flattering a thing to 
utter to a fair lady’s face, we should say 
we think thy father’s lowliness would be 
more than made up for by thine exceeding 
beauty,” replied the nobleman, with a 
pleasant smile. 

Just at this moment, there entered the 
great hall the blind beggar himself, but 
richly clad in a silk robe, with a plumed 
velvet cap ; so that no one, save the bride 
and bridegroom, recognized him. He car- 
ried a lute under his arm, and, asking per- 
mission of the company, began to play 
upon it, with great skill and sweetness, to 
the delight of all present, who declared 
him to be “a marvellous cunning min- 
strel.” After a delicate prelude, he sung 
this song : 


“A poor beggar’s daughter did dwell on a green, 
Who, for her fairness, might well be a queen ; 

A blithe, bonny lass, and a dainty was she ; 

And many one called her Pretty Bessee. 

«« Her father he had no goods, nor no land. 

But begged for a penny, all day, with his hand ; 


88 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 


And yet to her marriage he gave thousands three. 
And still he hath somewhat for Pretty Bessee. 

«* And if any one here her birth do disdain, 

Her father is ready, with might and with main, 
To prove she is come of noble degree ; 

Therefore never flout at Pretty Bessee.” 


On hearing the boast with which this 
song concluded, the gay company began to 
laugh heartily ; and one merrily cried out, 
“I’ faith, sir minstrel, the bride and the 
beggar are beholden to thee ! Thou dost 
make quick work at ennobling them, in 
thy song. ,, 

Then up rose the bride, all blushing and 
tearful, and said, “0, pardon my father, 
I pray you, my lords and gentlemen ! He 
dotes upon me with such blind affection 
that he doth dream these things.” 

“If this be thy father, sweet lady,” 
said one of the nobles, with grave courtesy, 
“he may well be proud of this day, — 
may well boast of thee ; and it is plain to 
be seen, by his countenance and air, that 
his birth and his fortunes do not agree. 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


89 


And therefore,” he continued, turning to 
the beggar, “ we pray thee to reveal the 
truth, and, for the love thou bearest thy 
fair daughter, declare thy rank and thy 
parentage.” 

At these words, a smile, half proud, 
half mournful, lit the melancholy face of 
the blind man ; and, running his slender, 
white fingers over the chords of his lute, 
he sung to the listening company another 
song, which contained the true story of his 
rank and fortune. This story I will tell 
you, in prose. 

The minstrel began by celebrating the 
heroic fame of Sir Simon de Montfort, the 
great Earl of Leicester, who was the 
chosen chief of the proud English barons, 
in a rebellion against their king. He was 
victorious in several contests ; but finally, 
in the bloody battle of Evesham, the barons 
were routed, and their brave leader slain. 

Fighting side by side with Sir Simon 
de Montfort, on that fatal day, was his 
eldest son, Henry, who was often wounded, 
8 * 


90 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

and finally struck down by a blow across 
the eyes, which deprived him forever of his 
sight. All the night which followed the 
great battle, the poor young nobleman lay 
among the dead and dying, bleeding and 
helpless, and only knew when it was day 
by 'the warmth of the sunlight falling upon 
his face, — the beautiful sunlight he was 
never more to behold ! All day he lay 
there, in darkness and pain, thirsting, 
fainting, praying for death to give him re- 
lease, and lead him to the light. He lay 
there till he knew, by the dews falling 
upon his parched lips, that another night 
had come. Then Grod sent to his help an 
angel, not of death, but of life. A baron's 
fair daughter came forth^ to seek among 
the slain for her father’s body , and seeing 
young De Montfort, and hearing his pite- 
ous moans, she was so moved by compas- 
sion that she had her servitors bear him to 
her castle. There she nursed him, secretly, 
for many weeks, until he was cured of all 
his wounds. He thought himself well 


THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER. 


9J 


enough to leave his hiding-place before 
his kind friend would hear of such a thing ; 
but one day, when he spoke of going, and 
the lady still urged him to stay longer, he 
broke out passionately, saying he must 
go ; — that already he had grown to love 
his benefactress, whose face he had never 
seen, more than all the beauty his lost eyes 
had ever beheld, — more than the glorious 
green of his native fields, the bloom of 
flowers, or the dear light of heaven ; and 
that if he lingered any longer he should 
lose all power to part with her. 

“My poor friend, where will you go, 
and what will you do, without me, who am 
your eyes, now, you know," said the lady, 
very gently, taking the hand which was 
groping about for hers to clasp in farewell. 
“Listen to me, De Montfort. — My father 
is dead ; my kinsmen are slain or ban- 
ished ; the king will seize upon my lands, 
as he has seized upon thine ; and I shall 
soon be as poor and friendless as thou art. 
Take me with thee, to serve and comfort 


92 * ST OKIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

thee. I have no refuge but thee ; besides/’ 
she added, softly, almost in a whisper, “ I, 
too, love thee, — love thee all the better 
for thy misfortunes, and cannot let thee go 
forth into the dark, cruel world, alone. ” 

0, very gladly the young soldier con- 
sented ! and soon the noble lovers were 
married, by a good priest, who faithfully 
kept their secret. The lady sold her jew- 
els, for a large sum of money, which she 
treasured up for future need. For the 
present, the only safety of her husband 
was in humbleness and apparent poverty. 
ITe was believed to have been slain at the 
battle of Evesham but should his enemies 
now discover him he would speedily suffer 
death. 

So it was that the rightful Earl of Lei- 
cester and his fair wife clothed themselves 
in russet, and lived like the poorest peas- 
ants ; — that he who had once taken his 
place with the proudest nobles of the land 
became the “Blind Beggar of Bednall- 
Green.” 


THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER. 


93 


It was not till after they had been mar- 
ried many years that Heaven sent 4 4 Pretty 
Bessee ” to bring brightness and sweet 
comfort to the lowly cottage of the Mont- 
forts. She grew up a good and prudent 
girl ; but never, till the day when he saw 
her the wife of a powerful noble, in high 
favor with the king, had her father dared 
to reveal, even to her, her honorable birth, 
and his own true name. 

4 4 This, my lords,” said the minstrel, 
44 is the end of the story of one who once 
belonged to your own rank. I should 
never have revealed the secret but for my 
Bessee’s sake. For myself, I should be 
content to die as unnoted and despised as 
I have lived these forty years ; yet'shall I 
be well content to see my Bessee’s mother 
honored according to her great deserts, — 
as a lady born, as well as the truest wife 
that lives in all our England.” 

When he ceased, there softly stepped 
forth, from the crowd around him, a tall, 
fair woman, richly but simply clad, — not 
young, but still beautiful and stately, — 


94 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

who walked majestically to the minstrel^ 
side, and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
And the old man, standing up very proudly, 
said to all the company, in the grand, un- 
forgotten way of a great noble, “My 
wife ! ” 

At this, all the lords and ladies came 
forward, and reverently greeted her, and 
gave their hands to her husband, address- 
ing him by his ancient title. Then they 
kissed and embraced the fair bride, — who 
was smiling and weeping, with surprise 
and joy, — and congratulated her that she 
was one of them, — of as good blood as 
any in the realm. 

So “Pretty Bessee ” was proved to be 
a lady born ; but, to the generous young 
lord who stood so proud and happy by her 
side, she was no better, fairer, or dearer, 
for all that ; though that it was a good 
thing he did not deny. 

The old ballad says that the banquet 
ended most joyfully, and that the noble 
knight spent a long and happy life with 
his gentle lady, the “ Pretty Bessee. ' * 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


A long, long time ago, somewhere in 
Scotland, there lived a young lord, the 
Lord of Linne. His father had been a 
good old man, and his mother a high-born 
lady ; but they were both dead, leaving 
him sole heir to the wide lands and stately 
house belonging to his title. 

He was of a gay, careless, reckless dis- 
position ; but he had, withal, a frank, 
warm, generous heart, which, at first, I 
doubt not, prompted him to spend his 
money freely, because it seemed to make 
others happy. But before long he found 
his way into the company of a set of gay, 
dissolute young men, and spent his days 
with them, in merry carousings, and his 
nights in revelling, and drinking, and 
gaming ; scattering his wealth with so free 
a hand that his friends half concluded his 


96 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

father must have left him, instead of a 
limited quantity of gold, the purse of For- 
tunatus, or a “magic rose,” such as the 
fairy gave to Prince Leander, from which, 
you remember, as he shook it, there fell a 
golden rain. 

But, as I said before, his father and 
mother were dead, and he had no good 
friends near to caution or advise him ; or, 
if he had, he did not heed them ; and so 
he went on, in this mad, reckless way, 
hunting, and coursing, and feasting, — 
“ always spending, and never sparing,” — 
until all his gold was gone. 

Instead of being frightened, as one 
would expect him to he, at this condition 
of things, it seems only to have made him 
more mad and reckless than ever ; for he 
determined to sell his house and lands. 

A man who had been the steward of the 
old Lord of Linne — a cunning, covetous, 
miserly knave, who, by ond means and 
another, had got rich, and become a “gen- 
tleman” — is now brought into the story. 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


97 


His name was John o’ the Scales, and he 
wanted very much to make himself master 
of the lands and title of Linne. So, when 
he found the Heir had spent all his money, 
he said to him that if he wanted to sell his 
house and lands, he would give him good 
store of gold for them. The rash young 
Heir, without pause or thought, at once 
drew up the deeds which were to make 
John o’ the Scales lord of all the broad, 
beautiful lands of Linne, and of the grand 
old house where his ancestors, maybe, had 
lived for centuries ; where he himself was 
born, — an only son ; where his dear, dead 
mother had watched over him, and cared 
for him, and kissed him so many, many 
blessed times ; where his good, kind old 
father had humored and spoiled his boy- 
hood, and unconsciously led the way to the 
wasteful, wanton life he was now leading. 
But let us be generous enough to believe 
that in his wild excitement he did not 
remember these things. At all events, if 
he did the remembrance was not strong 

9 g 


98 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

enough to stay his hand from signing the 
deeds. He sold all to John o’ the Scales, 
— all, save one poor little lodge, that 
stood far off in a lonely glen ; and for every 
pound that John gave him the land was 
well worth three. 

The old Lord of Linne seems to have 
foreseen, or, at least, feared, the thriftless 
course of his son ; for, as you will see, 
before he died he contrived a very ingeni- 
ous plan for saving him from utter poverty, 
and turning him away from his idle, 
wicked life. 

One day, not long before he died, he 
called him to him, and said, “ My son, 
when I am gone thou wilt spend thy lands 
and gold; but swear to me, on this cross, 
that thou wilt never part with the little 
lodge that stands in the lonesome glen ; 
for when all the world doth frown on thee, 
there thou wilt find a friend.’ ’ 

One would think that when the remem- 
brance of that oath came to the Heir, as 
it did, — for you remember he did not sell 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


99 


the lodge, — it would have brought with it 
such a feeling of shame that his father’s 
prediction of his prodigality had come so 
true, that he would have kept out of his 
old, had ways, for a little while, at least. 
But no ; he at once called his gay com- 
panions about him, and said, “Come, my 
friends, let’s drink, and riot, and make 
merry again ! ” 

They said to themselves, “The Fortuna- 
tus purse is mended, — the rose has re- 
covered its magic;” and led him on to 
wilder dissipation than ever. 

But by and by, the purse was again 
worn out, — the rose lost its magic once 
more ; and all that remained to the poor 
Heir of Linne of his broad lands and yellow 
gold were three pennies, — one of brass, 
one of lead, and one of silver. He then 
began to repent of his wastefulness ; but 
he quickly consoled himself with the 
thought that he had many trusty friends, 
who, as he had given so freely to them, 
would be glad of the opportunity to return 


100 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

his kindness. Poor fellow ; — he knew 
but little of the world. One was not at 
home ; another had just paid all his money 
away ; and a third called him a thriftless 
loon, and bade him go about his business. 
So he settled sorrowfully down to the re- 
flection that he who had been the owner of 
a noble house and vast estates, — who had 
spent his gold bounteously as a king, — 
who had given splendid feasts, and revels 
without number, — was now left without 
house, without lands, without money, and 
without friends ; — with nothing to do but 
to beg or steal. But he was too proud to 
do the first, and still too noble to do the 
other. 

Just then, the remembrance of his oath 
to his father came back to him again ; and 
at once off he started, over hill and hollow, 
and moor and fen, till he came to the little 
low lodge in the lonely glen. lie looked 
at it, up and down, in the hope that there 
might be something in its appearance to 
cheer and comfort him ; but alas! it was a 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


101 


sorry place to look to for comfort ; — the 
walls were damp, mouldy, bare, and cheer- 
less, and there was but one little window, 
all darkened up with vines of ivy, briar, 
and yew. No cheering sunlight or play- 
ful breeze ever found its way there. It 
was the very picture of desolation and 
loneliness ; and the poor Heir of Linne 
leaned against the wall, completely over- 
come by grief, shame, and remorse. Pres- 
ently, when his eyes had become a little 
accustomed to the gloom, he saw a rope, 
with a running noose, dangling above his 
head, and over it, in large letters, were 
written these words : 


“ Ah, graceless wretch ! hast spent thine all, 
And brought thyself to penury. 

«* All this my boding mind misgave ; 

I therefore left this trusty friend. 

Let it now shield thy foul disgrace, 

And all thy shame and sorrows end.” 


As the poor, outcast Heir read these 
words, his heart was ready to burst with 

9 * 


102 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

shame and sorrow ; but he choked down 
his feelings, and said to himself, 44 This is 
a trusty friend indeed, and is right wel- 
come unto me.” 

He shut his teeth hard, put the rope 
about his neck, and sprang up from the 
floor, when at once down he tumbled to 
the ground, with the rope and part of the 
ceiling on top of him. He lay there a 
little while, half stunned by the fall, hardly 
knowing whether he was alive or dead ; 
but, quickly reviving, he crawled out from 
under the fragments of the ceiling, when 
he spied among them a piece of paper. 
He picked it up, and out fell a little key 
of gold. The paper told him of a secret 
hole in the wall, in which there were hid- 
den three chests. It did not take him long 
to find the hole, you may depend, nor to 
teach the little gold key to say 44 Open 
sesame to the three chests. Two of 
them were full of beaten gold, and one 
was full of silver ; and over them was 
written, 44 Once more, my son, I set thee 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


108 


clear. Forsake thy follies, and amend thy 
sinful life. If thou dost not, this rope will 
surely be thy end, at last.” 

Tears of sincere repentance came into 
the tender blue eyes of the Heir of Linne, 
as he read these words, and thought of the 
dear, dead father who had written them ; 
and, solemnly kneeling down, he vowed to 
henceforth live a nobler, better life. 

Then he fastened up the chests securely, 
after having taken some bags of gold out 
of one of them, and started off, with a 
swift foot and light heart, to the house of 
John o’ the Scales. When he got there, 
he found a gay company, with three lords 
among them, sitting and drinking wine 
with John, who sat at the head of the 
table ; for he was now Lord of Linne. 

Putting on a piteous face, the Heir said, 
“ I pray thee, good John o’ the Scales, to 
lend me forty pence.” 

At this speech, John grew very red and 
angry. 4 4 Away, thou thriftless loon, 


104 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

away ! ’ ’ said he ; “a curse be upon my 
head if ever I lend thee one penny ! ” 

Then the Heir turned to the wife of 
John, and said, “Madame, bestow some 
alms on me, I pray you, for sweet Saint 
Charity’s sake.” 

But the wife was even more heartless 
than the husband. She, too, bade him 
“Away!” half threatening to have him 
hung. 

But one of the company at the table 
— a good-hearted, honest fellow — said, 
“ Turn again, thou Heir of Linne. Once 
thou wast a right good lord, and spent thy 
gold merrily; therefore 77/ lend thee forty 
pence, and forty more, if need be.” Then, 
turning around, he said, “And John o’ 
the Scales, I pray thee let him make one 
of our company ; for well I know thou 
didst get his lands at a right good bar- 
gain.” 

John o’ the Scales sprang up, with his 
face even redder than before, and said, in 
a loud, coarse tone, “ Now, may Christ’s 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


105 


curse light upon my head if I did not lose 
by that bargain ! ” Then, turning about to 
the Heir of Linne, he said, with a sneer- 
ing, cunning look, “And here, before 
these good lords, I offer thee back thy bar- 
gain, at a hundred marks less than I did 
buy it of thee.” 

At this, the Heir of Linne started 
quickly forward, exclaiming, “ By my 
faith, I take thee at thy word, and call 
these lords to witness Here ’s thy 
money ! ” 

With that he drew forth three bags of 
gold, and laid them down upon the table, 
before John o' the Scales, who sat there 
so full of rage and astonishment that he 
could not say a word. The Heir of Linne 
then opened the bags, and counted out the 
bright gold pieces, one by one, making 
them ring upon the table, as he did so, 
just to aggravate John o’ the Scales, who 
writhed and twisted in his chair, furious 
with rage, to think that he was not only no 
longer the lord and owner of the fine house 


106 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

and wide lands of Linne, but that he had 
parted with them at a hundred marks less 
than the price he had paid the Heir for 
them. 

Like a great many other men who strive 
to get along rapidly in the world, by mak- 
ing good bargains for themselves, and bad 
ones for those with whom they deal, John 
o’ the Scales had overreached himself. 
He knew that he had not paid the Heir of 
Linne one half the worth of his lands, but 
supposing that of course the poor Heir, 
who had just been begging for forty pence, 
could have no gold, he thought that by the 
cunning trick of offering to sell them back 
to him, at even a less sum than he had 
given, he could make the lords believe he 
had made a bad bargain. But we ’ have 
seen how sadly mistaken he was. 

After the Heir had counted out before 
John the right amount, he said, ££ The gold 
is thine ; the land is mine ; and now I am 
again the Lord of Linne.’ ’ Then, turning 
to the young man who had offered to lend 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


107 


him the forty pence, he continued, 44 Come 
here, thou good fellow ! For the forty 
pence thou didst lend me, I give thee forty 
pounds ; and I ’ll make thee keeper of my 
forest, both of the wild deer and the tame.” 
As the other, feeling that he had only done 
a simple, manly act, which needed no re- 
ward, was about to protest, the Heir 
quickly added, 44 If I did not reward thy 
generous heart, I were much to blame.” 

All this time, Joan, the wife of John o’ 
the Scales, — who, by the way, was a 
great, fat, funny-looking old woman, — 
was rolling herself about in her chair, 
making the queerest faces, and moaning to 
herself, 44 Now, well-a-day ! woe is my 
life ! Yesterday I was Lady of Linne, and 
now I am only the wife of John o’ the 
Scales ! ” and here she fell to making more 
queer faces, and rolling herself about still 
more absurdly, till the old butler of the 
house, who was delighted to have his 
young master back again, took her by the 
arm, and pointed to the door, out of which 


108 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

John was just shuffling, his face all twisted 
up with the ugliest frown imaginable. 
She shook the butler’s hand off angrily, 
seizd her cane, and waddled out after her 
husband, just as the Heir of Linne ex- 
claimed, “ Fare thee well, John o’ the 
Scales ; and may a curse come upon me if 
ever I put my lands in jeopardy again ! ” 
And so the ballad ends. 


SIR PATRICK SPENS. 


In the royal palace, in Dunfermline 
town, King Alexander the Third, an an- 
cient Scottish monarch, sat at the banquet 
table, with his queen and courtiers, drink- 
ing rich, red wine, and eating luscious 
fruit. A proud earl, at his right hand, 
was humbly waiting on him ; the young 
sons of great lords were acting as pages 
and cup-bearers ; a famous minstrel stood 
ready with his lute, to sing a splendid ode 
in praise of his high mightiness ; and 
doubtless the old king's heart would have 
swelled with pride, and danced with pleas- 
ant jollity, on the occasion, had it not 
been that as he looked about him his eyes 
fell on no noble prince or fair princess, to 
rule in his place, and wear his crown, 
when he should be called to go “the way 
of all the earth," kings not excepted. 


110 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

Alexander had no living children, and 
the heir to his throne was his grandchild, 
the young daughter of the King of Nor- 
way. Somehow, this day he felt, more 
than ever before, a longing to see this 
little princess ; and as he had just had a 
fine new ship built, he resolved to send for 
her at once. So, looking round at his 
courtiers, he asked, “ Can any of you tell 
me where I can get a skillful skipper, to 
sail this new ship of mine?” 

One of the knights who sat at the right 
of the king answered, that, in his opinion, 
Sir Patrick Spens was the best sailor that 
ever sailed the sea. 

Now, it was the winter time, — a very 
dangerous season for navigation, in those 
northern seas ; but the king was not going 
to sail himself ; and kings are not apt to 
make much account of the lives of even 
the best of their subjects. So Alexander 
at once called for pen, ink, and paper, and 
wrote a letter with his own royal hand, 
and sealed it with his big royal seal, com- 


SIR PATRICK SPENS. 


Ill 


manding Sir Patrick Spens to make the 
voyage to Norway, and bring home King 
Eric’s daughter, without loss of time. 

This letter was brought to Sir Patrick 
when he was walking on the strand, think- 
ing over his perilous voyages, and thanking 
Heaven that he was to be safe on land for 
two good months, or more. When he 
opened the letter, and glanced at the grand 
signature, he laughed a glad, proud laugh, 
lifted his head high, and stepped haughtily, 
as a correspondent of kings should ; but 
before he had read all, the bitter tears 
almost blinded his eyes, and he exclaimed, 
“ 0 ! who has done this unfriendly deed? 
Who has put it into the rash old king’s 
head to send me out to sea, at this bluster- 
ing time of year? Be it wind, or rain, or 
hail, or sleet, we must sail the foam ; for 
this daughter of the King of Norway must, 
at all hazards, be brought to Dunfermline, 
to sit on her grandpapa’s knee, and learn 
how to govern us unruly Scots.” 

But though Sir Patrick murmured a 


112 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

little, he obeyed, like a loyal subject and 
sensible man ; for be knew be could not 
help himself, and he preferred the chance 
of drowning to the certainty of losing his 
head. So, on the next Wednesday, he set 
sail, with a gay company of noble young 
Scots, whom the king sent as an escort for 
the princess, his granddaughter. 

The weather proved fair, and they 
landed in Norway on Monday, and pre- 
sented themselves at court without delay. 

They found the princess a very little girl 
indeed, whom it seemed a pity to take 
away from her nurse, her dolls, and pets, 
and carry over the wintry sea, to a strange 
country. King Eric probably treated his 
guests politely, — invited them to dinner, 
once or twice, — got up a famous hunting 
party for them, and kept all the game for 
his own kitchen , but he certainly did not 
dispatch business according to Sir Patrick’s 
ideas ; for he detained him and the Scottish 
nobles for a fortnight, and yet the princess 
and her train were not ready. Then the 


SIR PATRICK SPENS. 


113 


Norwegian courtiers, who seem to have 
been a mean, inhospitable set of men, be- 
gan to say, in the faces of their guests, 
c c You Scots are overstaying your wel- 
come ; — you are spending all the gold 
and silver of our king and queen, and eat- 
ing and drinking them out of palace and 
home. ,, 

Then Sir Patrick’s blood was up, I can 
assure you ; and, like the rough, honest 
sailor he was, he told the insolent Norwe- 
gians that they lied, and lied again ! — 
that he and his men had spent their own 
money, and paid their own way ; and that, 
princess or no princess, he would not stay 
another hour in such a churlish and shabby 
court. So he called together the Scottish 
lords, and commanded his men to hoist sail, 
and put out to sea directly. 

One of the old sailors begged his master 
to delay a day or two ; because, the night 
before, he had seen the new moon “with 
the old moon in her arms;” and he was 
sure that a deadly storm was coming up. 
10* E 


114 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

But Sir Patrick was too angry and proud 
to hear to reason ; — put out to sea he 
would ; and put out to sea he did. 

They had not sailed more than three 
leagues before the sky grew black, and the 
winds grew loud, and the great waves be- 
gan to rage and roar about them, and dash 
over and over the ship. 

In the midst of the tempest, Sir Patrick 
cried, “Where will I get a man to hold 
the helm, while I go aloft to see if I can 
spy land.” 

And a brave sailor answered, “ Here am 
I, ready to take the helm, while you climb 
the topmast ; but much I fear, dear mas- 
ter, that you will never more see land.” 

Sir Patrick had hardly taken a step 
when a bolt was wrenched out of the ship's 
side, and the sea came pouring in. 

Then Sir Patrick commanded his men to 
bring a web of silken cloth from the cabin, 
and stuff it into the hole in the ship's side. 
This they did, but still the sea came pour- 
ing in. It flooded the rich tapestried 


SIR PATRICK SPENS. 


115 


cabin ; it dashed up over the purple dais, 
put there for the princess and her maids ; 
it flowed, and foamed, and gushed, and 
gurgled everywhere, rising higher and 
higher. 

The dainty young lords were loth, at 
first, to wet their high-heeled silken shoes ; 
but before their trouble was over their vel- 
vet hats and gay plumes were quite as 
badly wet ; for they all went down, — 
passengers and crew ; and King Alexan- 
der’s fine new ship was a total loss. 

Many were the beautiful court ladies, at 
Dunfermline, who sat with their fans in 
their hands, and their gold combs in their 
hair, waiting for their lovers to come back 
from Norway ; but never, never did they 
see Sir Patrick’s ship come sailing to the 
strand. They longed, and waited, and 
watched in vain ; for, full forty miles off 
Aberdeen, where the water was fifty fath- 
oms deep, Sir Patrick Spens — a good 
sailor, but a rather too hasty and hot- 


116 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

headed old gentleman — lay at the bottom 
of the sea, 


“ With the Scots lords at his feet.’* 


As for the princess, the ballad does not 
say that she was on board the ship at all ; 
but history tells us that when Alexander 
of Scotland was killed, by a fall from his 
horse, this grandchild was declared the 
rightful heir to his throne ; and, though 
then only eight years old, was sent for, to 
be made Queen of the Scots. King 
Edward the First, of England, proposed 
that she should be married to his eldest 
son ; and a most magnificent future seemed 
opening before her. But, alas ! on her 
voyage across the rough, northern water, 
the poor little girl fell ill with sea-sick- 
ness, and, perhaps, home-sickness ; and 
though she landed on one of the Orkney 
islands, she got no better, but grew worse, 
and died. 

Her death caused great troubles and 


SIR PATRICK SPENS. 


117 


disputes in Scotland, which finally grew 
into long and terrible wars. But I doubt 
not it was better and happier for the child 
to be so early called away from the perils, 
and cares, and temptations of royalty, tfian 
to have reached Scotland, ascended her 
grandpapa’s throne, held his heavy scep- 
tre in her small, white hand, and worn his 
great crown on her bonnie little head. 


AULD ROBIN GRAY. 


Once there lived on the estate of the 
Earl of Balcarres, in Scotland, a humble 
peasant family, consisting of a poor old 
couple and their one daughter, Jenny, a 
young woman who was famed, through all 
the country round, for her beauty, and 
loved for her goodness. 

Jenny had a lover, whose name was 
Jamie, — a good, brave, and handsome 
young man, but poor, like herself. In- 
deed, when he asked Jenny to promise to 
be his wife, he had only one crown-piece 
in his pocket. To make this crown a 
pound, he took leave of his betrothed, and 
went to sea. 

He had not been gone much over a year 
when Jenny’s father broke his arm, and 
her mother fell sick, and Crummie, the 
cow, that might almost have supported 


AULD ROBIN GRAY. 


119 


them all with her milk, was stolen ; and a 
rich old gentleman, by the name of Robin 
Gray, came a-courting Jenny. Poor girl ! 
she had a very hard time of it. Her 
father could not do any work ; her mother 
could only sit propped up with pillows, in 
an arm-chair, and watch her daughter toil- 
ing, hour after hour, for their daily bread. 
Sometimes she would beg that her little 
wheel might be brought to her, and she 
would try to spin ; but she was so weak, 
and her hand trembled so, that she always 
had to give over very soon ; and when her 
daughter put away the wheel she would 
look after her, with tears in her dim, old 
eyes, and then put on her spectacles, and 
take up her Bible, so that Jenny should 
not see her cry. 

But with all that this poor girl could do, 
by working all day, and nearly all night, 
she could not support her parents and her- 
self ; so they were obliged to accept help 
from old Robin Gray, who would not see 
them want for anything. To be sure, he 


120 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

did them this kindness principally because 
he wanted Jenny for his wife. 

“ I know, Jenny, ” he would say, “that 
I am but a plain, rough old man, whom 
you can't fancy much ; but if, for the sake 
of the poor old folks, you will marry me, I 
will be a good son to them, and a kind 
husband to you." 

But Jenny always refused ; for, you 
know, she had given her heart and her 
promise to J amie ; and she expected him 
home every day. But, instead of him, 
there came the news that his ship had been 
wrecked, and that all on board were lost. 
So, with all her other troubles, Jenny had 
to mourn for her drowned lover ; and things 
were a great deal worse than before ; for 
now she had no dear hope to keep her up. 

Then her father reasoned with her, try- 
ing to persuade her to marry good old 
Robin Gray. Her mother did not say 
anything, but she looked into her daugh- 
ter’s eyes with such a pleading, pitiful 
look, that Jenny could not bear it. So, at 


AULD ROBIN GRAY. 


121 


last, she gave her hand to old Robin Gray ; 
but she told him that the best love of her 
heart was away down in the dark, deep- 
sea, where her dear, lost Jamie was lying. 

Well, these two were married ; and old 
Eobin was as good as his word. He al- 
ways treated his pretty young wife very 
kindly, and he made the old people very 
comfortable indeed. 

But Jenny had not been married many 
weeks, when, one day, as she was sitting 
alone, on the stone steps, at the cottage 
door, she thought she saw her Jamie’s 
ghost ! But she soon found that it was 
the young sailor himself, escaped from the 
wreck ; for he clasped her in his arms, 
saying, “I have come home, my love, to 
marry you.” 

Then she was obliged to tell him all ; — 
how she had believed him drowned ; and 
how she was already married, for the sake 
of her poor father and mother ; and that 
he must not call her his Jenny any more, 
but Mrs. Robin Gray, of Balcarres. 

11 


122 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

Jamie did not blame her, though he was 
shocked and grieved to tears. They both 
wept, and then parted, supposing it was 
forever. 

Poor Jenny was now sadder than ever. 
She grew paler and thinner every day. 
She did not care to spin any more, and she 
never laughed nor sung, as she used to do. 
But she was always kind to her father and 
mother, and tried her best to be a loving 
wife to old Kobin Gray, who was very 
good to her. 

As for him, he was so grieved to see 
her moping about in this way, and blamed 
himself so much for her unhappiness, that 
he finally took to his bed, with his death- 
sickness. He would not take any medi- 
cine, for he said that he did not care to 
live. 

He called his friends together, and con- 
fessed that he had done wrong, in taking 
advantage of the illness and poverty of the 
old folks, to get Jenny to be his wife. 
He even owned that he had stolen Crum- 


AULD ROBIN GRAY. 


123 


mie, the cow, so that the family should 
have no dependence but him. When 
Jamie came back, and he saw how disap- 
pointed he was to have lost his bride, and 
how sorry Jenny was that she had married, 
he felt that he had done them both a great 
wrong, and that the best thing for him to 
do was to die ; and so he was dying. 

He asked for Jamie, and when the 
young sailor came he took his hand and 
put it into Jenny's, and said, “ You love 
each other well. Forgive me ; and, 0 ! let 
me do some good before I die. I give 
you, young man, all my houses, and lands, 
and cattle, and the dear wife who never 
ought to have been mine." 

Then Jamie and Jenny bent down, and 
kissed his hands, and wept over them. 
Those hands grew cold against their lips. 
They looked up, and saw a sweet smile 
on their friend's face ; but that face was 
still and very white. — Old Robin Gray 
was dead. 

After a while, Jamie and Jenny were 


124 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

married, and were very happy, in a new 
and comfortable home. The old folks 
lived to see a little grandson — a ‘ c wee 
bit bairn, ” as Jenny called him — toddling 
about the house, and hanging around them, 
as they sat in their cosy arm-chairs, by 
the fire-side. And this is the last we have 
heard about that family ; but I doubt not 
they always spoke tenderly of the old man 
that was gone, and I think it very likely 
they named that “ wee bit bairn ” Robin. 









FRIDOLIN; OR, THE MESSAGE TO THE 
FORGE. 


Hundreds of years ago, there lived, 
somewhere in Germany, in a great castle, 
surrounded by vast estates, a mighty lord, 
called the Count Yon Savern. It was in a 
time when the wise and benificent laws 
which now secure justice and protection to 
the very poorest people were not even 
dreamt of ; — when the great lords and 
barons held unlimited power over their 
attendants, peasants, and serfs, — the 
power to punish, torture, or put them to 
death, at will. 

Besides his large domains, his villages, 
his castle, and his mighty name, the 
Count Yon Savern possessed a young and 
lovely wife, who, with her many gentle, 
virtues, and tender graces, gave a nobler 
nobility to his sounding titles than she 
received from them. 

11* 


126 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

Among the attendants of this fair and 
beauteous lady was a young page, named 
Fridolin, who was noted as well for his 
gentleness and piety as for his delicate, 
graceful beauty. Early and late — from 
dawn of day till the bell tolled for vespers 
— Fridolin’s constant thought and care 
were his duties to his mistress ; — her 
every wish was fulfilled, almost before she 
could speak it. So watchful and unceas- 
ing was his devotion to her service that 
she would often gently chide him, and bid 
him not weary himself with such constant 
toil for her. Then his beautiful, soft eyes 
would fill with tears, and he would answer, 
pleadingly, “ What I do for one so dear to 
me does not seem like toil at which the 
lady would smile, a sweet, half-motherly 
smile ; for he was to her more like a 
gentle, loving child, than a servant. 

. And so, out of all her many attendants, 
the countess always selected Fridolin to 
execute her commands, and her lips were 
ever ready to speak his praise ; while he 


FRIDOLIN. 


127 


strove, day by day, more and more eagerly 
in her service, wishing for no reward but 
the kindly smile, which he never failed to 
receive ; until his beautiful, radiant pres- 
ence grew to be one of the pleasant accom- 
paniments of her life, and she missed it, 
when absent, as she missed the sunshine 
from her chamber, when the day clouded. 

Among the attendants of the Count Von 
Savern was a huntsman, named Robert, a 
dark, jealous, treacherous man. Robert 
had long noticed, with envious eyes, how 
Fridolin’s comely face, and dutiful, wil- 
ling heart, were winning him the generous 
favor and kindly preference of the count- 
ess ; and he determined to bring about the 
ruin and death of the beautiful, innocent 
youth, for no other reason than because he 
was beautiful and innocent. 

One day, as the huntsman was return- 
ing, with his master, from the chase* he 
said, in a crafty, stealthy way, “ Truly, 
thine is a happy lot, my lord. No jealous 
doubts disturb the quiet of thy sleep. En- 


128 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

circled by her holy virtues, thy noble lady 
stands secure in faith and truth/’ 

The Count Yon Savern had a generous, 
noble heart, but he had, also, a most pas- 
sionate temper ; and when this was roused 
it was not difficult, as the cunning Robert 
well knew, to blind his better judgment, 
and lead him on to savage, cruel deeds. 
At Robert’s soft, insinuating words, he 
wheeled his horse fiercely round, and, 
with flashing eyes and frowning brow, 
exclaimed, “ How now, bold man ! What 
is this thou sayest? Think’ st thou I rest 
my faith on aught so fickle as a woman’s 
truth, — woman, whose ear is ever open to 
the smooth voice of flattery? Not I. — I 
build on firmer ground. — My august name 
and lordly might are the buckler of my 
lady’s virtue and my own honor.” 

“ Eight ! ” said Robert ; “ and thy 

noble scorn is punishment enough for one 
who, though born a vassal, yet holds him- 
self so loftily that he dares aspire even to 
the lady whom he serves.” 


FRIDOLIN. 


129 


“How!” cried the count, trembling 
with a terrible anger; “dost thou speak 
of one that now lives, and dares this 
thing?” 

“ Can it be,” said the wily Robert, 
“ that that which is so clear to all thy 
house is yet unknown to thee ? If so, let 
me not be the one to undeceive thee.” 

At this, the passion of the count burst 
all bounds. “ Fool ! ” he cried ; “ fool ! 
thy words have decreed a death ! Give 
me to know who dares so wild a crime as 
this ! ’ 9 

“My lord, I speak of Fridolin,” said 
the black-hearted knave ; adding, with 
subtle art, “truly his face is comely to 
behold.” 

Count Yon Savern started, as if a sword 
had pierced him ; his face grew red and 
pale by turns, and his breath fairly hissed 
through his set teeth. Robert’s heart 
swelled with a malignant joy, as he noted 
how well his scheme was working ; but, 
not yet content with his work, he said. 


130 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

“ Surely my gracious master must see that 
it is only in her presence the youth lives. 
When she is absent so are his thoughts, — 
so is almost his very self. At your board 
he stands heedless of duty, — spell-bound 
beside her chair, his eyes feeding his heart 
with this most unholy passion. And then, 
the rhymes he writ ! In them stood bold 
confessed his most audacious love. Ay, 
nor that alone ; the shameless knave begged 
that she might love him in return. All 
this the countess, filled w T ith tender pity 
for his youth, and hoping each day, I 
doubt not, to find this unhappy passion 
flown of itself, has withheld from you. I 
fear me she did only right, in this, and 
that I have overdone my duty in departing 
from her gentle example/ ’ 

Not a word said the count ; but, with 
his black brows knotted in terrible resolve, 
he struck the spurs into his good horse, 
and galloped fiercely away to the woods, 
where lay the iron-furnaces, which formed 
a part of his possessions. 


FRIDOLIN. 


131 


Here, night and day, the great bearded 
smiths fed the vast furnaces with huge 
masses of iron, until they boiled and surged 
like fiery seas, while mighty hammers 
joined their ponderous clang to the roar 
of monster bellows, and, above all, the 
chimneys, steeple-high, shot solid columns 
of red fire into the very heavens. 

The Count Yon Savern checked his 
panting horse at the threshold, and, beck- 
oning forth two swarthy, herculean smiths, 
he said to them, in cold, slow, deadly 
words, “ Soon I shall send a messenger to 
you, who will ask, Have you obeyed my 
lord's command? Seize the wretch, and 
thrust him into yon hell-fire, that his very 
bones may scatter to the winds. Let him 
never offend my sight again.” 

Those brawny monsters needed no second 
command. They rubbed their hands, in 
savage glee, and their inhuman breasts 
swelled with joy, at the prospect of this 
cruel deed. No gentle, humane instincts 
had ever quickened in their brutish na- 


132 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

tures, — no tender flowers of pity had ever 
bloomed in their rude hearts. With the 
cold-blooded zeal of pagan priests, at some 
infernal sacrifice, they hastened back to 
the furnace, and plied the great bellows, 
to make more hot the dreadful fires. 

In the mean time, the count, hastening 
back to the castle, sent the wicked hunts- 
man to summon Fridolin to receive his 
message. When the gentle boy appeared, 
not daring to trust himself to many words, 
lest he should betray his horrid purpose, 
the count said, briefly, “Hasten to the 
forge, in the woods, and say to the smiths, 
Have you obeyed my lord's command ?” 

“ It shall be done,” said Fridolin, as he 
bowed himself out of the hall. Then, 
thinking that his beloved mistress might 
have some service which he could do by 
the way, he hastened to her presence. 
He found her in the nursery, bending anx- 
iously over the cradle of her beautiful 
child. “My lord bids me seek the forge, 
with a message for the smiths,” he said; 


FRIDOLIN. 


133 


“ but ere I go, hast thou no command to 
lay upon the willing heart of thy serv- 
ant ? ” 

The gentle countess smiled her thanks, 
for his tireless thought of her, and said, in 
a voice that was soft and sweet as the 
flowing of summer streams, “ I had wished 
to hear the holy mass, this morn, that I 
might pray for my little babe, who is far 
from well. But do thou seek the shrine, 
and let thy fervent prayer take the place 
of mine. As thou shalt free thine own 
soul from the taint of sinful thought, so 
will it find grace to win God’s mercy for 
mine, and for the gentle body of my 
child.” 

The fair lady could have asked no more 
welcome service of Fridolin. With quick 
and happy feet, he sped along the path, 
through the cool, solemn woods, where the 
singing of birds made a sunshine for the 
ear ; — over the winding stream, in whose 
clear deeps other woods seemed to lie — 
fairy woods, with softer shadows and fairer 
12 


134 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

lights ; — by the marge of lovely meadows, 
whose tender green was touched into a 
beautiful, golden bronze, by the free, mid- 
summer bounty of the sun. On went the 
gentle youth, his joyous nature thrilling 
with a silent, involuntary response to all 
these sights and sounds, through which 
God’s great love is ever yearning to his 
children. On he went, till the peaceful 
little village came in sight, its quaint, 
speckled cottages huddled like eggs in the 
nest-like valley, while over all brooded the 
dome of mother-church. 

Fridolin had thought to do his master’s 
bidding first, and was speeding past the 
village, when suddenly, from the church- 
tower, there drifted the peal of the bell, 
calling to the service of the Holy Sacra- 
ment. Saying to himself, in pious thought- 
fulness, “ If God is found upon the way 
thou must not pass him by,” he turned 
back, and entered the church to pray. 

The harvest season was just then at its 
height, and so busy with scythe and sickle 


FRIDOLIN. 


135 


were the villagers, gathering God’s bounty 
from the fields, that they neglected the 
call of the bell to gather the harvest of his 
mercy, from the lesson of our Saviour’s 
sacrifice. So Fridolin found the church 
almost empty, with not a single chorister 
to serve the mass * or share the rites. 
Seeing this, he felt a holy impulse to serve 
as sacristan himself, thinking that that 
which promoted the cause of Heaven could 
not be a delay. 

With meek and humble bearing, he 
passed into the chancel, robing the priest 
in “cingulum” and “stole,” and nimbly 
arranging all the holy vessels required for 
the high mass. When this portion of the 
service was over, urged by a pious zeal, he 
still remained, to act as ministrant, — 
bowing before the altar, with the mass- 
hook in his hands, — kneeling right and 
left, watchful of every sign, and tinkling 
the little bell three times as the “ sane - 

* At this time, the Roman Catholic was almost the only 
form of the Christian religion in existence. 


136 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

tus ” fell from the lips of the priest. Then, 
as the meek priest bends low before the 
altar, lifting on high the sacred cross, 
again the silver tinkle of his bell is heard, 
while all present, kneeling down, mark 
their breasts with the sign. And so, 
through all the service, did he assist the 
rites with knowing and ready hand ; for 
all the customs of that holy place were set 
down in his earnest heart. Then, when 
the service closed with the blessing, and 
he had reverently put away all the conse- 
crated chalices and sacred symbols, and 
sprinkled the shrine with holy water, he 
once more took his way to the forge, mur- 
muring slowly to himself twelve pater- 
nosters. 

When he reached the forge, he found 
the two smiths standing beside one of the 
furnaces, with a horrid expression of exul- 
tation on their coarse faces. “ How fares 
it, my friends ?” said Fridolin. “ Have ye 
obeyed my lord's command ?” 

At this question, the smiths both burst 


FRIDOLIN. 


137 


into a laugh that made Fridolin’s blood run 
cold ; so ghastly and terrible was it. Then, 
pointing into the yawning, fiery throat of 
the furnace, they said, “ Go thy ways, 
lad. He ’s caught and cared for ; and thy 
lord shall give us good praise, we warrant 
thee.” 

Back went Fridolin to the castle, striv- 
ing, with fleet foot, to recover the time 
spent in the church. When he entered 
the great hall, the count started back, as 
though one from the dead had appeared to 
him. He could hardly believe his eyes ; 
but, quickly recovering himself, he said, 
with a frown, “ Whence comest thou, 
boy?” 

“From the forge,” said Fridolin, won- 
dering to himself at the count’s strange 
manner. 

“ So ! ” said the count ; “ and nowhere 
else ? By my troth, thy legs are but slow 
transports, for their age. How comes it 
thou hast loitered thus? ” 

“My lord,” replied Fridolin, “1 de- 
12 * 


138 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

layed no longer than to fulfill a command 
my lady, the countess, had charged me 
with ; for, pardon me, on quitting thy 
presence I sought her’s, to ask if there was 
aught I could do for her by the way. She 
bade me seek the church, and hear the 
mass for her. No command, even from 
her gracious lips, could be more sweet to 
me. So, as I passed the village by, the 
bell, loud ringing from the tower, seemed 
like the echo of my lady's wish ; and I 
turned aside to pray, beseeching the good 
Saviour for long life, and health, and joy 
to my lord and lady both, and also to your 
precious babe, for whom the countess most 
did wish my prayers." 

Softened, in spite of himself, by the 
earnest sweetness of Fridolin’s speech and 
manner, and still wondering how the youth 
could have escaped the dreadful fate he 
had prepared for him, the count asked, 
“And when thou did’st reach the forge, 
what answer made the smiths? " 

‘ 4 They pointed into the fierce furnace. 


FRIDOLIN. 


139 


and said to me, with a ghastly, terrible 
laugh, 4 Go thy way. He ’s caught and cared 
for; and thy lord shall give us good praise.’ ” 

“ And Robert?” gasped the count, as 
an awful suspicion flashed across his mind ; 
“ thou must surely have crossed his path ! 
I sent him to the wood .” 

“Neither in wood nor meadow, my 
lord,” said Fridolin, “have I seen any 
trace of him.” 

The count stood, pale and death-like, foi 
a moment; then, lifting up his hands, he said, 
solemnly, “0, God of heaven ! thou, in thy 
surpassing wisdom, hath judged the right.” 

Then, with his fierce pride all gone, meek- 
ly and gently he took the hand of Fridolin, 
and, leading him into the chamber of the 
countess, said, as the lovely lady looked up, 
in silent wonder, “ No angel is more pure 
than this dear child ! Long may thy love for 
him continue.” Then, lifting his plumed 
cap from his head, he raised his face heaven- 
ward, and added, reverently, “ How weak 
is our poor human strength ! — how dim our 


140 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 


mortal sight ! God and his host keep watch 
over Fridolin.” 

Lest some of the younger readers of this 
story should not perfectly understand what 
became of the huntsman Robert, or how it 
was that the smiths did not thrust Fridolin 
into the furnace, as the count had intended, 
1 will explain it a little more clearly than 
the ballad does. 

While Fridolin was fulfilling the duties of 
sacristan, in the church, Robert grew so im- 
patient to learn the success of his wicked plot 
that he went to the furnace himself. He ar- 
rived there before Fridolin had quitted the 
church, and when he asked the smiths if they 
had done what his lord had commanded them 
to do, the words were so nearly like those the 
count had used that they supposed he must 
be their victim ; so they at once seized him, 
and, in spite of his cries, and fierce struggles, 
and efforts to explain, pitched him headlong 
into the terrible fire, which he had intended 
should destroy the innocent Fridolin. 


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THE EMPEROR, THE ABBOT, AND THE 


SHEPHERD. 


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Once upon a time, ages agq, there was 
in Germany a great Emperor^fc- quite as 
great, in his own estimation, at least, as 
the new German Emperor^ we have all 

seen come up as the French Emperor — 1.^ 

went down. He was, in truth, for those 
days, very rich and powerful, and proud 
and grand. He owned several dozen 
palaces, and any number you please of 
horses and carriages, and blooded cattle, 
and dogs of the finest breed, and game- 
cocks, and Cochin China hens, and Span- 
ish ducks. He had splendid clothes, all 
made in Paris, and a crown for every day 
in the week, and an extra fine one for 
Sundays, and gold-headed canes, and jew- 
elled snuff-boxes and cigar-cases and 


snuff-boxes 
jpqtch-hqxos. • He had real lords to dress 


and undress him, and go everywhere with 


142 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

him, and watch him every minute, and 
painters to paint him in every new dress, 
and famous musicians to play for him while 
he ate, and great poets to read him to 
sleep with odes and sonnets, and priests to 
preach for him just as he wanted them to, 
and learned physicians to taste all his 
food and prescribe for him every day, and 
a wife and half a dozen healthy children ; 
and yet, for all these blessings, he was not 
happy, — he was not even in good health. 
In fact, I suspect, from all the accounts 
that have come down to us, that this 
great Emperor was dyspeptic. He grew 
thin, and sallow, and nervous, — which is 
the polite term for ill-natured ; and at last, 
as nothing would set well on liis, royal 
stomach, took to the hardest sort of Gra- 
ham diet, — bran bread and wheaten grits. 
He tried taking a great deal of exercise, 
walking and sleeping in heavy armor to 
harden himself, practising in both the 
light and heavy gymnastics. He proba- 
bly tried the water-cure, the movement- 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 143 

cure, the lifting-cure, the grape-cure, the 
magnetic cure, and every other cure that 
came in his way ; but all was of no avail, 
he got no better in health or temper, — 
in fact, he grew more sour, cynical, dis- 
contented, and suspicious every day. He 
even doubted the loyal love and devotion 
of his courtiers, though on* their knees 
they frequently protested that they only 
lived for him, were only happy in his 
august and gusty presence. He some- 
times fancied that his gay and handsome 
son, the heir-apparent, did not respect 
him, or feel anxious that he should have 
a long and happy reign, though he had 
tried to keep that young prince humble 
and obedient by frequent discipline with 
the cane he always carried, and by occa- 
sional confinement in the tower on bread- 
and-water diet. 

One of the holy men who had charge 
of this Emperor’s conscience — and it was 
not a trifle to look after — was an elderly 
abbot, who was the greatest contrast to 


144 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

the Emperor it was possible to meet. His 
Grace was round and rosy and jovial ; his 
face shone like the full moon, and he wad- 
dled when he walked ; but he was a good- 
hearted little man, not much spoiled by 
being a court priest, and everybody ex- 
cept his royal master liked him well. 
The Emperor only disliked him because he 
envied him his happy smile, rosy cheeks, 
hearty appetite, and good digestion. 

One hot summer day, when the Em- 
peror was out riding with a train of noble 
gentlemen, — some young and gallant, but 
all forced to look hard and sour, because 
he did, and it was the fashion to be glum, 
— he came across this Abbot of St. Gall, 
walking in a shady grove, and looking 
most aggravatingly cool and comfortable. 
The Emperor, on receiving his salutation, 
suddenly pulled up his horse and called 
out, with a grim smile : — 

“ Well, how fares our little man of God ? 
I see, by your good condition, that pray- 
ing and fasting set well on your Grace. 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 145 

You must be fed miraculously, like the 
good people you tell us of, who feasted 
on the five loaves and two fishes. Me- 
thinks, though, your Grace is burdened 
with too much leisure ; you seem to be 
strolling about here for lack of better 
employment. Surely, reverend and well- 
beloved .father, if I give you some work, 
you will count it a pleasure, and perform 
it gladly for your sovereign’s sweet sake. 
They say you are the wisest and cun- 
ningest man in the kingdom ; that you 
can almost hear the grass grow, and see 
the fine little fairy spirits painting the 
flowers and the fruits ; that you know all 
languages, living and dead ; and that there 
is n’t a bird that peeps, or a star that 
winks, whose name you cannot tell. Now, 
0 venerable sage, to try you, and to em- 
ploy you, I will put to you three ques- 
tions, — only three, and very simple they 
are, — and you shall have three months 
in which to make out the true answers, 
which you shall give to me in my audi- 


146 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

ence-chamber, in the presence of all my 
court, to whom I long to show what a 
wise man I possess in the Abbot of St. 
Gall. 

“This is the first question: When I 
am on my throne, in all my state and 
splendor, with my nobles and warriors 
round me, how much to a penny — to a 
penny, mind ! — am I worth ? ” 

The poor Abbot’s countenance put on 
a strange look of gravity and concern, 
but the Emperor went on : — 

“The second question is quite as easy 
as the first : How long, to a second, — 
to a second, mind ! — every hour and 
minute being counted, and never a min- 
ute too much, will it take me to make 
a journey round the world on horse- 
back ? ” 

Here the Abbot looked really fright- 
ened, but the facetious monarch contin- 
ued : — 

“ The last question is hardly worth men- 
tioning to your learned Grace, it is so ex- 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 147 

ceedingly simple. I shall, as you do me 
the honor to stand before my poor throne 
this day three months, ask you what I 
may be thinking at that very moment, and 
you must tell me exactly' and, stay! 
you must prove to me that there is not 
an atom of truth in my thought. 

“Of course, I expect so cunning and 
erudite a man as your Grace will make 
short work of these few easy questions, 
but failure is possible, even to holy 
priests of high degree, unless they use 
all human diligence ; so I must say to 
your gracious Grace, that if, on the day 
appointed, you do not render true an- 
swers to these same questions, your rule 
as Abbot of St. Gall will be over forever ; 
and that, moreover, you must take a ride 
through the land on an ass, riding back- 
wards, your Grace ! with the animal’s tail 
in your hand.” 

Here the facetious monarch put golden 
spurs to his richly caparisoned horse, and 
galloped off, laughing loudly, followed by 


148 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

his courtiers, roaring and almost bursting 
with merriment, especially such as were 
relatives or proteges of the Abbot. 

Poor Abbot! it was no joke to him. 
He knew that the Emperor was in deadly 
earnest, and would surely carry out his 
royal threats and plans. All that had 
been said about his cleverness and learn- 
ing was a sorry jest. Even for a priest 
in those days he was singularly wanting 
in wit and knowledge. 

'So it was with very little hope and 
courage that he set about trying to find 
answers to those tough questions. Turn 
them whichever way he would, . they 
proved too hard nuts for him to crack 
alone. So he went to the four most fa- 
mous colleges of the Empire, one after 
another, and laid the imperial puzzles 
before the four faculties of learned doc- 
tors and divines, who looked wondrous 
wise in their big wigs and black gowns 
and round-eyed spectacles, and turned 
over musty old books, and talked Latin, 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 140 

and disputed among themselves, and after 
a long time gave him a score of contra- 
dictory answers, telling him to take his 
choice out of the lot, and exacted im- 
mense fees from him, and sent him away 
more miserable and bewildered than ever. 
He went to great lawyers, and they asked 
him a thousand questions, all more puz- 
zling, if possible, than the Emperor’s 
three, and set a dozen clerks to work, 
and employed detectives, and used up 
no end of foolscap ' and red tape, and 
finally did nothing for him, and charged 
him a round sum for it. 

So the time went on, — weeks, months, 
— and brought the dreaded day when he 
must render his account to the cruel Em- 
peror before a mocking court. Our Ab- 
bot, once round and rosy and jovial, had 
grown thin and pale and careworn. He 
no longer relished good Rhine wine, or 
fat venison, or plump partridge, even on 
Friday ; he no longer smiled on pretty 
children, or on pious peasants bringing 


150 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

him their humble tithes, or on handsome 
and high-bred dames coming to confes- 
sion and needing encouragement in well- 
doing. He was a sadly changed man. 
Evermore in dreams and in waking an- 
ticipations he saw himself degraded from 
his honorable and comfortable position, 
and sent riding out of his goodly domain 
backwards, on an ass, grasping that ridic- 
ulous animal’s tail. He daily sought the 
quietest, loneliest places in his grounds, 
and gave up his whole mind to thinking 
out the answers to those dreadful ques- 
tions for himself, as everybody else had 
failed him. But, being a court priest, 
he was not much used to thinking, and 
always found the task too much for his 
wits. 

Early on this very last day he went, 
though almost in despair, to his thinking- 
place in the deep wood, and there hap- 
pened to encounter a certain jolly shep- 
herd, Hans Bendix by name, who, not 
being in fashionable life or holy orders, 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 151 

had not heard of the absurd task the 
Emperor had set the Abbot. He had 
known that holy man in his better days, 
and now looked at him in utter astonish- 
ment, exclaiming, “ Why, what in the 
name of St. Mary and St. Joseph is the 
matter with your Grace ? You look as 
sallow, and thin, and miserable as a re- 
jected suitor, or a hermit, who take love 
and religion in the hardest way, — or as 
an emperor with the dyspepsia.’ ’ 

The Abbot, being very much humbled 
by misfortune, sat down on a grassy knoll 
by the shepherd’s side, and told him all 
his trouble, and the serious fix he was in ; 
for, at high noon, the questions must be 
answered, or the ass mounted. 

When he had finished his story, to his 
surprise Plans laughed out right merrily, 
and said, “ Why, is that all ? It ’s easy 
enough to get your Grace out of the 
scrape ; only lend me your robes, and 
your cap and cross, and I ’ll soon settle 
this business for you. I don’t know any- 


152 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

thing of your Dog-Latin, but I know how 
to get both the dog and the cat out of 
the bag. What rich courtiers can’t buy, 
and wise doctors and sharp lawyers can’t 
come at, I learned of my mother before 
I was weaned; so off with your Abbot’s 
rigging, and trust to me.” 

The melancholy priest fairly skipped 
about like a kid, as he dressed up the 
honest shepherd, who soon stood stately 
in rich array, and, being a portly and rud- 
dy man, looked wonderfully like the Ab- 
bot of St. Gall as he had appeared on the 
day when the Emperor laid his strange 
commands upon him. He gave his bless- 
ing to the real Abbot, and went straight 
to the palace. At high noon, precisely, 
he entered the great audience-chamber of 
the Emperor, to find that mighty potentate 
arrayed in the utmost magnificence, seat- 
ed on his throne, with the Empress, the 
Prince Imperial, and all the little imperi- 
als present, and a large company of gay 
courtiers and grim warriors, all pleasantly 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AKD SHEPHERD. 153 

anticipating a novel entertainment in 
seeing the poor old Abbot questioned, 
confused, overwhelmed, deprived of his 
sacred dignities, and set to donkey-riding 
in an extremely amusing and un clerical 
way. 

As the shepherd approached his throne, 
the Emperor, well pleased, cried out : 
“ Aha, Sir Abbot ! so you have come, 
according to appointment. That is a 
good beginning. We feared to be obliged 
to send an armed escort for your Grace, 
thinking that in your profound researches 
and holy duties you might forget our 
poor commands.” 

Then winking about him right pleas- 
antly he added : “ Now, like a faithful 
w r arden of the royal mint, canst tell me, 
to a penny, what I am worth to-day, here 
on my throne, with my best crown and 
clothes on ? ” 

Hans Bendix, not a whit dashed or 
dazzled, replied briefly, “ Just twenty-nine 
florins, sire.” 


154 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

“You are very exact,” said the Empe- 
ror, with a little sneer. “ But, Sir Abbot, 
may I ask what are your reasons for nam- 
ing that particular and modest sum ? ” 

“ Our glorious Lord,” said Hans, “was 
sold for thirty florins, and you, sire, though 
doubtless the greatest living monarch, 
are surely worth one florin less than he.” 

“Hum! — well,” said the Emperor, 
making a wry face, “ a clever answer. 1 
can’t object, though I never thought my- 
self so dog-cheap as that. Now for the 
second question. Your Grace will have to 
look sharp before answering this: — How 
long to a second, — to a second, mind ! — 
every hour and minute being counted, 
and never a minute too much, will it take 
me to make a journey round the world 
on horseback ? ” 

After putting this poser, the Emperor 
leaned eagerly forward for the reply, and 
everybody leaned forward, and there was 
utter silence, and a court lady dropped 
a pin, but nobody attended to it, for 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 155 

just at that instant Hans Bendix replied 
coolly : — 

a W ell, Sir Emperor, I ’ll bet you my 
cross and my cap, against your sceptre 
and crown, that you ’ll make that same 
journey in just twenty-four hours, — if 
you will rise with the sun, and ride with 
it, keeping exact pace with it as it goes 
its round.” 

The Emperor really laughed out at 
this, and acknowledged that it was very 
ingenious, and that he could not get over 
it; especially that “if,” he said, which 
was “ a sharp turn, worthy of a priest.” 
Then he knitted his royal brows and con- 
tinued*: “ Now for the third and last 
question ! If you fail to crack this hard- 
est nut of all, I still doom you to the ass. 
What is it I am thinking now ? and why 
is it that the thought is not true ? ” 

44 Well, sire, you think at this moment 
that I am the Abbot of St. Gall.” 

“ Ah ! well, yes, — so far so good.” 

“ Then, begging your pardon, Sir Em- 


156 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

peror, your royal thought is a false one, 
for I am Hans Bendix, the shepherd.” 

So saying, Hans removed his cap, and 
showed a dark, curly head, with no priest- 
ly tonsure ! 

The Emperor started, frowned, bit his 
lip, grew very red in the face, then burst 
into natural, hearty, unroyal laughter. 
All the courtiers, w T ho had also been start- 
ing, frowning, biting their lips, and turn- 
ing as red as circumstances would allow, 
echoed the great monarch’s laughter, in 
the most loyal and jovial manner, till the 
old audience-chamber rang again. Even 
the solemn chamberlains and ushers of 
the black rod unbent, and the guards 
along the corridors and the porters at 
the gates were seen to smile. 

At last the Emperor got breath enough 
to speak, and say: “Well, Sir Shep- 
herd, if you are not the venerable per- 
sonage I took you for, I will make 
you the Abbot of St. Gall, on the spot. 
I will bestow on you his lands and titles 


EMPEROR, ABBOT, AND SHEPHERD. 157 

and his princely abbey ; for so clever and 
pleasant a fellow as you ought not to be 
lost to the Holy Church, whose loving 
son I am. Quick, my lords, let us invest 
the new Abbot, and we will still have our 
little entertainment with the old Abbot, 
for the ass stands saddled in the court- 
yard.” 

But Hans, bowing very low, replied : 
u Not so, sire ; I prefer my sheep and 
goats to the unruly flock the Abbot of St. 
Gall must look after. I prefer to keep 
my peasant cot, and dress, and unshaved 
head, and, strange as it may seem, my 
good wife and my prattling babies. I 
have no learning, and I should not know 
how to confess great princes and fine 
ladies, and to comfort them for their sins. 
So, my gracious Emperor, I pray you, 
excuse me.” 

“Well, well,” said that monarch, now 
thoroughly good-humored, a ask some fa- 
vor of us for thy joke, — the best we 
have heard for many a day.” 


158 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

u I have few wants,” said Hans, cc but, 
as you say that you will grant my re- 
quest, it is this, — a full, free pardon for 
my dear lord, the Abbot of St. Gall, who 
has been so unhappy as to offend your 
Highness.” 

Again the Emperor laughed, and said 
it was “ as good as a play ” ; and all the 
court applauded, and the generous re- 
quest of the clever and good-hearted shep- 
herd was granted, on condition that the 
rich Abbot should support his humble 
friend and advocate as long as they both 
should live. 

So the audience broke up gayly, and 
everybody was well satisfied but the royal 
children, whom the royal governess had 
told how that good and gracious sov- 
ereign, their illustrious father, had pro- 
vided for them a rare and diverting show, 
— nothing less than the sight of a holy 
man, in full canonicals, riding on an ass, 
face backwards, holding on by the tail. 


THE RICHEST PRINCE. 


One summer day, four German sover- 
eigns — the Prince of Saxony, the Elec- 
tor of the Rhine, the King of Bavaria, and 
the Grand Duke of Wiirtemberg — sat 
at a table in a stately palace-hall in the 
quaint old town of Worms. This, by the 
way, was the city in which brave old 
Martin Luther was tried for heresy three 
hundred years ago, more or less. But it 
is not of the stout old reformer that I 
am now to tell you, but of the four 
princes, and not much of them. 

They had been enjoying a right royal 
banquet ; they had dismissed the solemn 
court servants, the court ladies had with- 
drawn, and they were sitting over their 
wine, with nothing to trouble them and 
everything to make them merry. 

At last they grew rather noisy and 


160 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

boastful, as the best of princes and po- 
tentates used to get occasionally, in those 
old, half-barbarous times, before there 
were such things known as Temperance 
Societies, Temperance Lectures, and Tem- 
perance Tracts, all of which have such a 
salutary and restraining influence on our 
rulers and great men, keeping them so- 
ber and godly, and making them “ heal- 
thy, wealthy, and wise.” 

The Prince of Saxony, the legend says, 
giving a proud glance at his heavy jew- 
elled crown, which, as he grew warm with 
wine, he had taken off his head, and set 
down by the side of his plate, said : 
u My domains, gentlemen-princes, are 
broad and rich. My mountains are brim- 
ming full of silver ore, and produce so 
much that I have really become tired of 
that metal, and use only gold for service 
on my table, and for tea-caddies, door- 
plates, and bell-knobs, and chamber 
candlesticks. I still allow silver to be 
coined for the use of my subjects, but I 
never handle it myself.” 


THE RICHEST PRINCE. 


161 


The Elector of the Rhine, holding up 
a splendid goblet of Bohemian glass, and 
squinting at the sparkling Hock it con- 
tained, said : “ My mountains have their 
sides covered with rich vineyards. Wine, 
wine, your Highness, such as this, speaks 
for my happy principality, and golden 
grain-fields abound in all my valleys.” 

King Louis of Bavaria smiled in a cool, 
self-satisfied way, and put in here : u Pros- 
perous cities and rich old cloisters are 
greater treasures than silver-mines, vine- 
yards, and grain-fields ; so, may it please 
your Highnesses, I claim the palm of 
sovereignty.” 

Last of all spoke the Lord of W tirtem- 
berg, an old man, with hair and beard as 
white as the snow on Alpine peaks, and 
eyes as blue as the forget-me-nots in 
Alpine valleys, and he said, in a quiet, 
modest way : “ I have few cities to boast 
of, and no silver-mines, and no famous 
vineyards, and no great store of treasure 
and precious stones, — but one rare jewel 


162 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

my dear land holds for me: In the deep- 
est, darkest, dreariest wood I can lay my 
old head in the lap of my humblest sub- 
ject, and have no fear. I am absolutely 
safe everywhere in my domains, and at 
all times.” 

Then the Lord of Saxony, flushing up 
with a generous warmth, cried out, in 
rather a blunt way for a prince : “ Old 
Count, we yield the palm to thee ; for, 
i’ faith ! thy land is rich in priceless 
treasures, — love and loyalty.” 

And all the others agreed directly, for 
though they were princes they were not 
lacking in sense. 


THE WIVES OF WEINSBURG. 


As long ago as the year 1141 a prince 
called “ Henry the Proud,” Duke of Ba- 
varia and Saxony, was besieged in his 
strongly fortified town of Weinsburg by 
a powerful enemy, Conrad the Third, 
Emperor of Germany. 

The Duke and his brave soldiers made 
a long and gallant resistance, and killed 
so many of the Emperor’s best soldiers, 
and repulsed so many of his brilliant 
attacks, that he was. enraged to the sav- 
age point of threatening to destroy the 
whole town and to slaughter all the in- 
habitants, surrender or no surrender. 

At length the Weinsburgers found that 
they could hold out but a short time 
longer. They also had lost many men ; 
their ammunition was running low, and 
their provisions lower ; in short, they were 


164 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

at the point of starvation and utter de- 
spair. 

The wise old men met daily in club- 
rooms and beer-gardens, and counselled 
together, and smoked over the sad state 
of public affairs. The priests said masses 
and walked in solemn processions through 
the streets, chanting and burning in- 
cense ; good old ladies got cramps and 
rheumatism by much kneeling in prayer 
on the damp stones of chapel floors ; but 
as the Emperor’s people were praying 
against them, to the same saints, nothing 
came of it. The archers and slingers 
fought on, from the already crumbling 
walls, obstinately but vainly. If there 
had been any editors of daily papers in 
Weinsburg, to criticise military opera- 
tions, things might have gone differently ; 
as it was, all was of no avail, and every 
hour brought their dreadful doom nearer. 

But often in this world, when the valor 
and wisdom of men fail, the wit and de- 
votion of women open a way of deliver- 
ance. It was so in Weinsburg. 


THE WIVES OF WEINSBURG. 165 

A clever young woman who, if she had 
lived in our time, would probably have 
been a great reformer, and a woman’s- 
rights lecturer, called together all the 
chief women of the town, to consider 
their critical situation. They kept out 
the newspaper reporters, and deliberated 
and planned with closed doors. The 
Duchess was probably in the chair. I 
doubt if they had any secretary, as in 
that day no woman knew how to write, 
and not even the alphabet had been suf- 
fered to come into families, to make dis- 
cord and division. So no written record 
of the discussions and resolutions of this 
convention have come down to us, — only 
the fact that it resulted in the appoint- 
ment of an embassy, of the most respect- 
able and beautiful of their number, to 
wait on the Emperor Conrad, and inter- 
cede for the doomed stronghold. 

They went forth early the next morn- 
ing, dressed in mourning, but very care- 
fully and becomingly, and walking in a 


166 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

solemn and stately way, each with a ro- 
sary at her side. 

To the great Emperor’s tent they came, 
and knelt in a semicircle before him, with 
clasped hands and tearful eyes, and en- 
treated him to show mercy. 

The young woman who had formed 
this plan for besieging the imperial heart 
spoke for the rest, and I assure you she 
talked to his Majesty in a way to impress 
and astonish him. She was “ as solemn as 
a priest and as cunning as a lawyer,” he 
said. But he had never heard Julia Ward 
Howe and Lucy Stone. He could not 
wholly resist her eloquence and her logic, 
but he was still very angry with the 
Weinsburgers for the trouble they had 
given him in not submitting sooner, — 
keeping him so long from the chase, and 
from more profitable war-enterprises ; and 
the best terms these brave dames could 
make with him were, that they and all 
their fellow townswomen should be al- 
lowed to march out of the besieged place 


THE WIVES OF WEINSBURG. 167 

in safety, and to go where they pleased, 
carrying with them so nrach of their 
treasures and most valuable possessions 
as they could bear on their backs. As for 
the men of the castle and town, from 
Duke Henry down to the lowest crafts- 
man, not one should be spared ! The 
obstinate fools deserved death, and they 
should have it ! The Emperor swore this 
with a great oath, and a stamp of his 
mailed foot that made all ring about him. 
The poor women were about to cry out 
in remonstrance, but their wise leader 
gave them a significant look, and, humbly 
bowing their sad heads, they backed out 
of the royal presence, and slowly re- 
turned to the besieged town. 

After a few hours the gates of Weins- 
burg were again swung open, and the 
great procession of its women began to 
file through. They were headed by the 
Duchess herself, in her richest robes and 
jewels. They all wore their best clothes 
and ornaments. Each woman was seen 


168 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 


bending under a heavy sack ; so heavy 
and of so peculiar a shape, that as they 
passed over the drawbridge, down the 
hill, and reached the camp of the besieg- 
ers, which they had to go through, the 
Emperor suspected a trick, and ordered 
a halt, that this sack business might be 
looked into. The Duchess had to de- 
posit her huge sack at his feet, and with 
it dropped her husband, Henry the Proud, 
— for “ pride must have a fall.” In every 
sack was found a man ! — the brave 
Weinsburg women declaring that their 
husbands, fathers, brothers, or lovers were 
their greatest earthly treasures. 

Not a full-grown man had been left in 
all Weinsburg. This was in the happy 
time when the number of men and 
women was about equal on the earth. 
Every wife carried her husband, — we will 
hope, quite willingly, — for this was in 
the time when husbands were well worth 
saving, — men valiant and true ; and not 
a young woman was there in all the town 


THE WIVES OF WEIN-SBURG. 169 


so uncomely that she could not on that 
day find a lover ready to be sacked. 

It was a strange and ludicrous sight 
when they were all let down and let out, 
and stood awaiting the decision of the 
conqueror. 

Some of the Emperor's most bloody- 
minded warriors urged him to recall the 
rash promise he had made to those strong- 
minded and strong-backed women of 
Weinsburg ; but he frowned on them, and 
- replied : “ An Emperor keeps his word." 

You see he was one of the old-fash- 
ioned kind of emperors. He did not stop 
there, for he was in capital good-humor, 
and, being a married man himself, felt 
that such wifely devotion was a good 
thing, and ought to be encouraged. He 
pardoned all the Weinsburgers on the 
spot ; and he gave that night a great ball, 
in the Duke’s castle, and lavished the 
Duke’s beer and wine, and danced with 
the Duchess and with all the prettiest 
dames, who in the embassy to his camp 


170 STORIED FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

had softened his gallant heart and 
wrought out final deliverance for Weins- 
burg. 

A great German poet says, “ Tell me 
the way to Weinsburg, for when I mar- 
ry I want a Wiensburg girl.” 

I do not know, but I very much doubt 
whether the poet, should he make a pil- 
grimage to that famous town, would find 
any girls of the old sort left, — any 
women anywhere, so strong in devotion, 
muscle, and backbone. 


THE CUSTOM OF DUNMOW. 


One sunny autumn day, hundreds of 
years ago, when the religion of Rome 
prevailed in England, the Prior of the old 
convent of D unmow, a gentle and holy 
man, was told that two young strangers 
were at his door, and solicited an inter- 
view with him. He rose, and, accompa- 
nied by two or three of his brothers, 
betook himself to the portal of the con- 
vent, where he found a very handsome 
young man and a fair young woman; 
kneeling reverently on the stones. They 
were dressed like peasants, but the youth 
had a stately air, while the beauty of his 
companion shone through her coarse dress 
like a star from out a cold, gray cloud. 

u What is it that you desire, my chil- 
dren ? — and why do you kneel here so 
humbly ? ” asked the kind old Prior. 


172 * STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

The young man looked up -with a hap- 
py smile, most beautiful to see, and re- 
plied, “ Father, twelve months and a day 
have passed since we two were wedded, 
and from that blessed hour we have lived 
in perfect peace, confidence, and love. 
Not one word of bitterness, unkindness, 
or dissension has passed between us. We 
have gone on, growing more and more 
happy, grateful, and loving, day by day, 
and now we have come to this holy house 
of our blessed Lady of D unmow, to crave 
your blessing on the wedded love that 
has stood so good a test.” 

The Prior smiled benignly, and, stretch- 
ing out his thin white hands, he blessed 
them fervently, rejoicing, devout old monk 
though he was, in their beauteous youth, 
their faith, and joy, and tender love. 

The wedded lovers bowed their fair 
heads yet more humbly, seeming to feel 
that gracious benediction falling upon 
them like an invisible celestial shower. 
Then they rose up, murmured their 


THE CUSTOM OF DUNMOW. 173 

thanks, and were about to turn away 
from the door, when they caught sight 
of the convent cook coming down into the 
court, bearing on his back a huge flitch of 
brown bacon- The cook was a fat, lazy, 
sliortrbreathed old fellow, and he seemed 
so overwhelmed by his burden that the 
happy young couple, beholding him, 
laughed out right merrily. The old Prior 
laughed also, and even the solemn monks 
behind him seemed glad of an opportunity 
to stretch the stiff muscles about their 
mouths, and smiled grimly at the ludi- 
crous sight. 

All at once a pleasant thought seemed 
to strike the venerable Prior, and he said 
to the peasant couple : “ My children, 
take you that mighty flitch of bacon, as 
a testimonial for your fidelity and tender 
affection towards one another. Methinks 
such love as yours maketh the whole world 
better and brighter. The story of it hath 
given a sweetness to this autumn morn 
beyond the sweetness of summer roses. 


174 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS 

So take our homely gift, — feast your 
friends upon it, and think sometimes on 
the Convent of D unmow, and on the old 
man who has done with the life of the 
world, but not with gentle human sym- 
pathies.' ' 

The young man seemed touched, and 
smiled softly as he responded: “We 
thank thee, good Prior, for thy gift. It is 
dear to us, not for its value, but because it 
proves that thou esteemest our love a good 
and beautiful thing, and that the blessing 
of the priest came from the heart of the man. 
I now give in return to the Convent of 
Dunmow certain broad lands, near by, 
which will yield thee and the good broth- 
ers a thousand marks a year ! But to 
this grant I annex this condition • when- 
ever a wedded pair shall come to the 
Convent and swear by the blessed Lady 
of Dunmow that they have lived as we 
have lived, in perfect love and concord, 
for a year and a day, they shall receive a 
goodly flitch of bacon. So, reverend 


THE CUSTOM OF DUXMOW. 175 

father, out of a simple chance a useful 
and pleasant custom shall grow ; and as 
long as hungry folk shall relish good ba- 
con, the example of our love shall endure, 
and our names and thine be blessed ! So 
mote it be ! ” 

The Prior and the monks looked at the 
speaker in silent astonishment, and it was 
noticed that even the pretty young wife 
stepped a little back from her husband, 
and gazed at him fixedly, like one bewil- 
dered. 

“ My son,” at length spake the Prior, 
“ thou art light-hearted, as beseemeth one 
of thy years, but thou shouldst not jest 
with reverend men like us, — if so be 
thou dost jest, — if not, who art thou, and 
of what degree ? ” 

a Nay, father,” replied the young man, 
gravely, “ I do not jest. In me thou 
seest thy neighbor, Sir Reginald Fitzwa- 
ter. I am, as thou knowest, rich enough 
to fulfil my promise to the convent. I 
am, indeed, the richest of men, since 


176 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

Heaven hath blessed me with this price- 
less treasure,” — and he drew to his breast 
the beautiful lady, who still gazed on him 
in blushing bewilderment. Then he con- 
tinued : “ It was by a happy chance, 
while journeying idly, far from my own 
domains, that I first saw my love, the 
sweetest flower of womanhood, blooming 
in a cottage garden. In the disguise of 
a peasant I wooed and won her, and now, 
after our trial of a year and a day, I am 
conducting her in pride and joy to the 
noble halls she is henceforth to grace and 
brighten. Dear love, pardon me that I 
did play a part I have been happy in 
sharing thy lowly condition, mayst thou 
be happy in sharing my higher estate ! 
Holy Prior and my good fathers, I will 
send a man and a mule for the convent’s 
gift, — mine may you all live many years 
to enjoy.” 

There was great rejoicing at the con- 
vent, but greater at the castle, when Sir 


THE CUSTOM OF DUNMOW. 177 

Reginald, who had been sorely missed, 
came walking quietly and smilingly 
through its great arched portal with his 
gentle bride, and when the rare beau- 
ty of the young couple^ came out from 
under the eclipse of their rude peasant 
dress, and shone resplendent in the rich 
costume becoming their station. But all 
said that the light of love and content in 
the young husband’s eyes was a rarer 
and more beautiful sight to see than the 
diamond circlet he placed on the fair 
head of his bride ; and that even those 
costly jewels seemed to pale in the radi- 
ance of her sweet, simple graciousness, — 
the “ ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit,” which she always wore. 

It is said that Sir Reginald and Lady 
Fitzwater lived many happy years, and 
died on the same day, and were buried 
in one grave. 

If some rich and benevolent man in 
our time should offer a prize of a Flitch 


178 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS. 

of Bacon to such happy couples as could 
"take the oath/’ — affirm that they had 
lived together in perfect love and peace 
for the space of a year and a day, it 
might, I think, considering the present 
high price of provisions, have a good 
moral effect ; and I do not fear that it 
would cause embarrassment to dealers in 
bacon, or a serious rise in the pork-mar- 
ket. 


















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